


The Dying of the Light

by Khemi



Series: The Sun in Flight [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Apocalypse, Blood Magic, End of the World, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gender Neutral Hawke, Magical Artifacts, Minor Character Death, Motorcycle Sex, Motorcycles, Multi, POV Second Person, Past Abuse, Past Slavery, Prophetic Visions, Recovery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Road Trips, Temporary Character Death, Trust, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:42:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 80,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4545351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khemi/pseuds/Khemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He entered your life in a shotgun blast with a halo of blood about his head, and from that moment you knew he was the one.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>You want to tell him everything, but oh, your tongue is thick, so you tell him that you trust him and hope one day he'll understand.</em></p><p> A story of the Riders, an end and a beginning, and a man named Fenris who rode with the Horsemen and changed their path forever.</p><p>  <b>[This is a gender neutral Hawke fic. You can read Hawke as Garrett <em>or</em> Marian.]</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knew You Were Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd give anything for him to trust you. Anything but the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! This was _meant_ to be a standard Motorcycle AU, but things got out of hand, and I hope you enjoy the result. Set in modern times, albeit with some tweaks, and written to try and leave Hawke as open to your interpretation as possible with regards gender and looks. Purple Hawke, eventually, but for now a muted Champion.
> 
> For [Chofi](http://hilarious-war.tumblr.com/), although perhaps not quite what was intended.

_And they said, I do not want this, but the seal lay torn and broken._  
_And they said, I am not ready, but the white horse stood awaiting._  
_And they said, I am no soldier, but the orders were still given.  
_ _And they said, I will not forgive you, and they never did forget._

There’s trouble in your jacket, leather loose over his shoulders, framing tattered clothes patched up with torn banners and old shirts you got too broad to wear. His fingers skim guitar strings too light to draw a song out, gaze pointed to the ground but focused years and miles away.

Crackling flames and cicadas in the grass are the sounds of your silent night, so common a chorus that they fade into the back of your awareness. You lose track of them, yet each time his chest swells and slips you trick yourself into thinking you can hear his breath. It’s a whisper on the wind that blows his pale hair around his face, carried louder in your imagination that any other music of the night.

Fenris presses his palm to the strings to still notes that never reached you.

“They’ll be back?” He casts a gaze past you to the fire, and you reply with a nod, shifting your unlit cigarette with the tip of your tongue behind your teeth. “Why did they leave?”

“Don’t know about you, but I prefer a full belly to an empty one.” You flash a lazy smile his way and he parries it with a roll of his eyes. Not so easily swayed, this Fenris. “Must’ve fed yourself, before we picked you up.”

“I didn’t exactly have money to spare.” His fingers slip to rest again the wooden curve of the instrument in his arms, and you aren’t sure if he understands how much trust Varric is showing him, leaving it with him so freely. “You’re definitely the leader, sitting here while they fetch your meals.”

“Someone has to watch the bikes, serah,” you start, and the way his eyes snap to you silences you before you suggest _he_ might also need to be kept under observation. After a tense pause the cicadas fill with reproachful notes, you clear your throat and glance away. “We take shifts. I will go next time, and someone different will stay.”

“You could have left _me…_ Unless you listen to the asshole who talks like I’m an animal, and think I’m waiting to make off with your things in the dead of the night?”

“Anders is not- He’s just-” _Anders,_ you finish below your breath, but shake it off with a turn of your head. “He is wrong about you.”

This time, his searching fingers draw a chord, resonating pure into the air.

“You don’t know that.” It’s not the sentiment you expected, and you blink the surprise away, turning your face entirely towards him. “I could be a murderer, waiting for my moment; a criminal, looking for the slaves I claim to be. You know nothing about me, Hawke.”

He has you pinned beneath his startling stare, pupils ringed with a green that blazes against the dark, and as the quiet draws out you find the lies that normally fall so smooth and simple from your tongue are silenced under the weight of his presence. Even the cigarette, unlit and useless, feels too much of a falsehood. You tug it from your lips and flick it away, eyes following it into the grass so you don’t have to meet that overpowering gaze for even a moment longer.

“I trust you,” is all you can manage, soft and pointless. There’s no explanation to go with it, no reason he’ll accept; just a sentiment you’ve held since he appeared to you with a shotgun blast and a halo of blood about his head. You trust him, as you trust yourself to draw breath. It’s thoughtless, instinctual. _Stupid._

But when were you ever smart?

“Would you trust any stranger?” Fenris manages to pour more disbelief into his words than you thought possible. When you don’t reply, he twists the blade; ”one who willingly led you into an ambush as bait?”

“No! No, of course not, and we _said_ we were not going to _mention that._ ” You give an irritated huff of air, but it falls flat, dulled by the genuine bite in his tone. “I… I don’t _have_ an answer, Fenris. Make of that what you will.”

Cicadas stretch into an endless hum that you can no longer hear, swift broken when he plucks a note too sharp and harsh for it to fall anything but uncomfortably flat. Fenris slams a hand to the strings to stop the sound, but its echoes fade out slowly, far beyond where his fingers can halt them. Even those fading whispers are long gone before you release the breath you didn’t realise had stuck in your lungs.

♁

“Out like a light, God’s balls. So much for watching our things.” Varric’s voice tugs at you, starting off dim and distant but growing sharper as his boot nudges your side. “It’s a good thing Broody was here. Hawke didn't even- My, my, our fearless leader rises. Good morning, sunshine, did we disturb your beauty sleep?”

You blink, the sun dazzling and sparkling across the mist over your eyes. Heat swamps you, tugs you back towards sleep, but that boot is quick to remind you of your company, and you manage to focus long enough to swallow away the horrid must in your mouth.

“What time’s it?”

“It’s time to wake up, that’s what time it is.” Varric offers a hand, and you take it, squeezing hard enough your nails leave crescents in the hot leather around his palm. "We got held up, a little trouble- nothing we couldn't handle, mind you, even if the amount of bandages Blondie has us in would make you think otherwise."

"You were _wounded_ ," Anders answers simply, bustling over at the sound of his given mantle. "Hawke, awake, good, how are you feeling? The sun's been baking and _anything_ could've been in the grass overnight-"

His palm is clammy against your forehead, but the cool of it is soothing. You flash him a small smile as Varric finishes dragging you to your feet.

"I feel fine, _dear_." Your reassurances do little, and you know that full well, but the petname has his hand sharply off you and his cheeks turning ruddy red. "Besides, I'm sure Fenris would have seen off anything that crept out of the darkness."

The smile that had almost warmed Anders' face drops to a hard line, his eyes casting away from you.

"Maybe," he mutters, and that one word manages to hold all the implications anyone else would need an essay to get across to you. _He's dangerous, Hawke, unpredictable. You trusted him with our things but more importantly you trusted him with your life, and anything could have happened, because he isn't safe. He isn't one of us._

"Quiet," you whisper to his imagined slights, and Varric and Anders give you identical looks that still hold very different weight and intention. "I- need quiet." The save is smooth, your lies glossy again in the glamour of the sun. "A moment?"

They recede, but it's not without a hesitation, that pause in step that reminds you there's time to reconsider and take them along. You smile politely, and the moment passes, Anders joining Merrill in checking through the medical supplies while Aveline counts boxes of ammunition beside them, and Varric bumping Sebastian's leg with his hip before taking one of the bags the Scot is struggling with and hoisting it over towards Isabela.

What a wonderful little family you've made, forged of dirt and burning rubber. They say blood is thicker than water and once you would have doubted it, but with a brother who fled and a mother who fell, this blood has grown thick enough to hold you up even when your knees were weak and your head was swimming.

This is home, and though it may roam, it still feels more stable than any crumbling ruin you may pass.

You will need this, for what is coming. You know they all understand.

Before you can finish opening your mouth to question the notable absence, Varric is pointing without looking, and you sigh and follow his direction without doubt. It takes you a few minutes of avoiding holes and pushing grass aside to finally reach Fenris, finding him huddled on a rock with his back to you, his head dipped to hide in the space his chest and bent legs create.

"...We will away soon." You knock a pebble with your foot, and it bounces over, stopping beside him. Slowly, his fingers uncurl, stretching down and lifting the smooth grey stone. He presses it to his palm, turning his head to gaze down at it. "...Are you well, Fenris?"

"Why do you speak like that?"

Something in your chest seizes, subtle but hard to ignore. It’s at your core, deep and painful, but you push it away as you force your fingers to loosen, laughing with forced brightness.

"...Like what?"

The pebble rushes through the air and skims along the gravel and cracked earth, his arm lingering where he threw it before dropping heavily to hold his legs to his chest, a barrier between him and the world, between him and- and _you._

"You're very good at pretending, but sometimes you slip up. You speak like you're in a novel, and you called me _serah._ No one _says_ shit like that." He scowls into air, shoulders tense. "I thought I was being stupid. But-"

"But?" You push gently when he just falls quiet, and he barks out a sharp laugh.

"Nothing.” The tension in him unwinds easily, too quick and too simple. You know it’s false, but you of all people can’t call him out on that, not with the honey that you drip when you flash purposeful smiles and whisper carefully chosen, deathly sweet words. “The heat’s getting to me.”

“You should talk to Anders.”

“I’ll take my chances with the heatstroke.”

This time, you manage a laugh as warm as the sun that beats down upon you both, but though Fenris’ lips may twitch in return, you can taste his concern flavouring the moment. The humour fades swiftly, and you look back over the grass with a frown far too earnest for your liking.

You trust him. You’d do anything to make him trust you.

“Let us _away,_ then,” he mimics, the impression too close for comfort. “It’s not like I have many other options.”

In that instant, you want to tell him everything, you do; you want to whisper the truth and hope he believes it, that it brings him closer to you, that it proves you’re capable of speaking something _real-_

But he turns from you, before you gather the courage, and strides into the grass without another look your way.

♁

You return later than you should, spending too long lost in the thoughts that still swarm you like a whining cloud after your blood. Varric no doubt already warned them how long you’d be gone, but sure enough, that does nothing to still Aveline’s impatient foot as you appear, drumming a beat of displeasure into the dirt.

The others, the _rest_ , cluster around your dead fire, playing cards and songs that mingle into a mess that feels too domestic for you to threaten with you presence. You walk to the watching guard instead, her leather belted around her like armour and her gun proud across her back, reflecting red from the sun for an instant before she shifts and all is plain silver and polished wood, no hint of a bloody threat to be seen.

“We could have been halfway there by now,” she murmurs, and you flinch away from the truth of it. “First we pick up a stray off a street corner- one we have no reason to trust, Hawke, swallow that pill and admit Anders is right- and now you’re so occupied with him it’s like you’ve forgotten what we’re here for.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” How _could_ you? The weight of it still aches behind your eyes, lifting only when you follow the call and look to the west. “Varric told you all, we need him.”

“Aye, he said we need him, but not in ways that make us forget our duty and become blushing children in his presence.”

“You’re one to talk! I remember Donnic-” It’s out before you can stop it, and Aveline’s eyes are bright with fire when they snap to you, her pretty mouth curling in a vicious snarl.

“Donnic was _long ago,_ and in an age we were not _needed,_ just the same as my Wesley before him.” She leans close, and her breath is cinders and ashes, burning against your cheek as you defiantly stand your ground. “Don’t you _dare_ use their names against me, _Champion.”_ The name is spit like a curse and God knows it may as well be, _“_ I let them go when it was time.”

“Of course you did, _Officer._ You always followed orders like a good soldier.”

“Yes, Hawke, I _do._ Because _we are soldiers._ ”

Something heats across your face and in the tips of your finger, a song for blood crying out in your veins, but before you can act on it your hand is seized, and held firm, the rage plummeting out of you with ever stroke of Merrill’s thumbs across your skin.

“Now then,” she murmurs, just as quiet as the steps she crept up on you both with. “There’ll be none of that, will there?”

Her gaze flits between the pair of you, and Aveline softens as your shoulders unwind, though your eyes stay firmly averted. Merrill’s smile might be gentle, but it’s hiding teeth that could tear as well as any others; she kisses the back of your hand, then takes Aveline’s, repeating the motion just as calm and quiet.

“You two used to be such good friends. I know things have been hard, but it’s nearly over now, and soon we can rest again and laugh at all of this.” It’s easy to believe it, spoken so lightly in her voice that chimes and flows like a melody. “Fenris is welcome, and fighting gets us nowhere. Even _you_ know fighting should be done for good reasons, Aveline.”

“I do,” Aveline concedes, cheeks pink under her freckles. “I’m… sorry. I haven’t been myself, lately.”

“None of us have,” you agree, letting some of your weariness slip into the words. “I’ve hardly cracked a joke since we set off.”

“ _Truly_ a sign of dark times.”

“It’s a heavy burden, and it’s made no kinder when we’re half ourselves.” Merrill’s voice is a drop of honey down an aching throat, a cold cloth to your head that fights away the merciless sun. It’s so simple to sink into it, and let your troubles be distant for a moment; to follow her with your eyes as she leaves a palm-print in the dust on Aveline’s fiery tank, and treads lightly to wipe the dirt from her own, pale leather seat. “We’re half ourselves and a long way from home, but we’ll be back, soon. What must come will be done, and we’ll remember what we were.”

“He’s not going to like it, is he?” You look to Fenris, who has cocked a wry smile at Varric as Sebastian throws his poor hand down in disgust. He looks so relaxed, now, a world away from the huddled shape that awaited you earlier, or the look on his face which still burns in your memory, vivid against a dark night sky.

Merrill sighs, and the image fades away.

“Have some faith, Hawke.” She daintily lifts herself onto her Harley, brushing the ivory dials and humming at the flurry of frost that the sun quickly does away with. “He’s still here.”

“Are we leaving?” Anders calls, when the engine roars into life, shattering the stillness and stability the fresco almost held. You nod, and find your way to pearly white, rubbing the tank with a softness once reserved for the withers of a horse. She’s taken you far, this one. The crest marked in matte amongst the gloss is old and noble, but she deserves it, more than any.

You mount up, and find Fenris lingering beside you, though his gaze is pointedly on where Anders is complaining his way into Aveline’s sidecar.

“Am I with you?” Fenris doesn’t look at you as he says it, his gaze moving even further away, and you swallow the vile taste in your mouth as you shrug and settle your elbows on the handles.

“ _Are_ you, Fenris?”

The words hang, and even the chorus of another engine, and the third, cannot silence the implications. His shoulders slump, ever so slightly, then he turns to you, raising himself up proudly as he does.

“For better or worse, I suppose I am.”

He doesn’t trust you, and that bites, but Merrill is right. He’s _still here,_ and you have time, even if the sands run thinner that you’d like.

You kick down the foot rest and he nimbly hops up onto it, settling behind you and apprehensively placing his hands to your back. You would tell him to hold your waist, but you won’t waste your breath, so you just lift yourself and settle, coaxing the engine into life with a twist of your wrist and a hot flash beneath your fingers.

“Most people use keys,” He mutters below his breath, and you smile, glancing over your shoulder and meeting his eyes for a moment before you kick your stand in, lurching once and then pulling forward smoothly with a cloud of dust behind you. The world is roaring, resonating through your bones, and as you cut a curve through the grass you hear Varric shouting some likely witty battle cry, before they’re roaring beside you, and past you, and you laugh and chase after them with the wind in your hair and a fire brighter than the sun in your eyes.

There may be doubts, but you can never doubt _this,_ not this moment where all is a blur and the world races past and you are _alive._

Even through the leather, you feel fingers curl against your back.

The pressure in your head is fierce, so you turn your gaze towards the west, fighting Sebastian to lead the way despite Aveline’s hollered warnings to be careful. Varric sings a song that’s lost below the engines, sat against Merrill’s back as she guides the shadows that close up in your wake.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcome! I'll answer all that I can. :)


	2. Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will he think when his eyes are open?

_When the pale horse lay gasping, she knelt beside it,_  
_and placed her hands to its wounds, gentle like the snow,_  
_and as it faded, she whispered she was sorry,_  
_but the Maker's will be done, she said, and its blood became her storm._

Varric passes you the binoculars after he's had his fill of the sight, raising his hand just high enough to signal a number to Sebastian where your marksman is setting up his rifle, belly to the dirt. You watch the sniper a moment too long, his gloved fingers carefully easing out bullets that are tipped with a silver set aglow by much more than the fading sunlight, and Fenris plucks the binoculars from your hand to use instead, frowning as he observes the old compound in the valley below you, long overgrown with vines but still lit from deep within.

"They hardly look dangerous," he mutters, and you narrow your eyes to watch the shambling figures that creep around the mossy walls. "They look _sick._ What's wrong with them?"

You peer through the lenses once he pushes the binoculars into your palm, biting the inside of your cheek as you watch a decaying mockery of a man stumble and rasp out a death-rattle through its rotted throat. Its arm is hanging open, flesh pecked off by carrion birds, and as it continues its unnatural limp forward, Varric's laugh beside you is too bright and too easy to accompany the vision shuffling across your sight.

"All off their head on drugs, I'd reckon, and that's their mistake for giving us the advantage." He snorts, as you watch the undead creature pass a ghoul thats leaving gouges in the wall behind its trailing nails, and then a shade that oozes up and turns the unholy hood of its head towards the wind, exposing the glowing depths of its lone eye. "You know cults, right? Think a little powder up their nose will make them Superman."

"...Apparently." Fenris hesitates, and for a moment you think he'll question it, before he crawls backwards, murmuring something vague about his gun. Varric sighs with relief, looking towards the compound and frowning with a truer concern.

"How many do you think there are, Hawke?"

"Oh, _lots,_ doubtless. There's a good five outside and the inside will be crawling." You squint at a shade that melts around a limping skeleton, reforming beyond it and leaving the bones stumbling. "He... He really cannot... see them?"

"No." Varric shrugs, tapping the ground with the irritation his fingers always speak of when they aren't plucking Bianca's strings. "I remember before I started seeing them- Good times, those were, I tell you. Your mind won't believe what it's seeing, so it just replaces it, tears pictures out of another place and slaps them on to make do. You really believe it, too. The day it starts to fall away... well, let's just say I didn't sleep well for a while after that."

"The human mind amazes me." You'll never understand it. Such a strange thing that it would lie to you about what's plainly there. "How long will it take him to See?"

"Between his brooding he's already noticed something's wrong with all of this. If he doesn't See by the time we're done fighting, he's going to See pretty damn fast once we really get this ball rolling." Varric pushes himself up, careful to stay crouched low as he gestures a few more signs to Sebastian you'd probably understand if you'd paid more attention to the various discussions about this raid you were always on the edge of. "There's only so much our minds can ignore, Chuckles. If you weren't all behaving so well, he'd have Seen before now, I tell you."

"When did you start Seeing?" You glance up, and Varric hesitates, his smile sticking. "You never really made a fuss of it."

"No, well- First time I watched Anders-" He rolls his hands over one another. "You remember when he found the man who'd been at that poor little girl..?"

You wince, and nod curtly, and that's the end of that, because Lord above you do _not_ need to dwell on _that_ incident again. Varric sighs thankfully, then vanishes off towards Sebastian, leaving you to breathe out slow and steady through your nose to ease the pain that's been swelling in your head since you got here. They have to feel it too, that call that itches under your skin, that whisper that's incessant at your ear. You look back down at your goal, so close now, and wonder what the hidden depths will bring.

Its decided in short order than Isabela will remain with Sebastian, to guard his back and so she doesn't lose herself to base nature and pick up something she shouldn't in the darkness. You _know_ she's been better, know she's come a long away, but this is important and, as Aveline is swift to remind her, keeping Sebastian safe is _just_ as crucial a role as venturing into the depths. You'll need Varric, and his gut instincts, though he accepts his fair Bianca must remain above ground. While he reassures her he'll be safe, easing her into her velvet-lined case with a final strummed farewell, you gather the rest of your group, watching Aveline check everyone is armed and full stocked before you settle and wet your lips.

"Either they die, or we do," you explain succinctly. "So... let's make sure it's them, shall we?"

You were never one for speeches. Your older friends look relieved you didn't try.

 _"You_ don't _have_ to do this," Anders hisses at Fenris, as you finally start your descent into the valley. Fenris replies with a glare, setting his jaw and moving forward undeterred.

♁

The first they know of you is Sebastian's bullet finding its mark and blowing one of their heads to pieces.

Black ichor splashes against the wall as the body crumples in a second death, and the nearby shades howl and turn towards the peak Sebastian is reloading on, rushing forward in waves of oily darkness. They pass by the spots you chose at Varric's behest, and in an instant, Aveline and Fenris are on their feet, one shade torn apart by a spray of silver pellets as the other is hit once in the chest, and once more in the head while it's weak. The shadows collapse into pools of melted malice, and before their absence is even noticed, Varric has two bottles of glittering water twirling from his fingers and smashing over the shambling husks, who scream and howl as their flesh bubbles and spits and lets off filthy steam.

You put them out of their misery with a bullet to whatever remains of their brain, and Anders and Merill erase what's left with glowing hands and darkened eyes.

Your gaze catches Fenris watching them, and you wonder what he sees. What replaces the light that they summon, and the shadows they command? What does he see in the place of mangled bone that crumbles to dust beneath their might?

Before you can ask, you feel a sharp pull behind your eyes, and you turn unresisting to follow it through the decaying door and into the tunnel beyond.

Outside was simple, really. A one- _two_ \- and they fell, the noise not a problem and Sebastian there in case you needed any support. It's likely you'll need him when you escape, but he cannot help you now, and you settle your guns away to pull out knives and flex crackling fingers instead, silence essential in these musty pits where anything could be woken should you dare to risk a sound. Aveline slips forward, and her presence swells, the whispers in the air around you flaring up as she passes. The trail of footprints she leaves in the stone are molten and light you from below, and you follow, trusting the blade in her hand that spreads from a knife to a sword with each flickering reflection of her footsteps it catches along its reddened edge.

Does he See that? Does he See _her,_ towering and terrible, armour no longer simple leather? Does he see her hair growing long and free and shimmering all the colours of a fire burning wild? Aveline fills the corridor before you, each breath flashing with sparks and heat from the forge in her chest, and as you reach the first gate to the lower levels, she grasps it in one hand, metal crumpling under her crushing fingers, and tears it from its hinges before setting it silently aside.

"Easy, there. Easy." You think Varric is whispering to her, at first, but when you turn he is speaking to Fenris, whose knife is clasped tight in his white-knuckled hand. The man is shaking, blinking too fast and too often, and when Varric sets a hand on his shoulder he jumps but settles swiftly with the whispers and that comforting grasp anchoring him to a reality you think he fears is slipping away.

"We should have left him," Anders reminds you coldly, as Aveline ducks through the doorway and things skitter in the dark. You can't think of anything to answer that won't admit the truth in his words, and silenced by your own doubt you can do little but watch as Anders strides forwards, towards the growing noises of vile things that scuttle and chitter out of sight. His fingers shatter first, blue blazing from beneath the cracks, and as it rushes up him and wisps into the air, his eyes are consumed with a light that mirrors the wave of pure white arching from his back. For a moment, the image forms solid, then fracture into wings of broken glass. They shine, the shapes shifting constantly as the fragments twists and shudder, and it is with a deeper voice than he utters, "he is not like us, _Champion_ ," before he surges forward, into the darkness, illuminating the bulbous, pitted spiders that snap their dripping maws against the threat of his glorious light.

Fenris is mumbling, too fast and muddled for you to pull apart, but Varric has him, and as much as you want to comfort him you have a job to do. You think an apology finds its way from your mouth, but you aren't sure, turning away from the pair to chase after Anders, your knife a burden in your hands and an unseen crown weighing heavy on your brow.

You don't change like them, nor show your might in softer ways like Merrill and her living shadows. You fight bloody and raw with a simple knife and your teeth grit hard, feeling ichor burn where it hits you and flesh sear hot when your fist plunges through another spider's chitinous crust. Are you trying to pretend for _him_ , to be normal when all else around you is clearly madness? Are you trying to cling to a life you have lived as though it were true, even when you knew your human face is just a mask?

The spiders fall, but their dying cries lure fetid corpses that gasp out an awful mess of shuddered breaths and rattling threats. You press forward, against them, one burning beneath Ander's fingers and another cleaved in two by Aveline's sword as the blade blazes with fire. You stab, and stab, and finally give a frustrated grunt and just seize the cracked skull that stares you down, shoving your thumbs into the sockets of its eyes and tearing it away from the neck that holds it with a spray of black that leaves a slash of darkness across your face. You don't bother to wipe it away, beyond smearing it further over your nose. Let them see you stained with what passes as their blood, a war cry etched over your cheeks.

On, and down, deeper down- There are fewer here than you expected. The halls are too empty, the creatures too weak.

"Do they not know what they guard?" Anders voices the thought that was on the edge of forming in your mind, his voice still the thunder of a coming storm. "Have they forgotten?"

"Perhaps they think _we_ have," you wonder aloud, stepping to the wall and wiping away the thick cobweb and dust that coats old warnings carved in the rock. Your fingers dip into the valley of a name that might be yours, before retreating, your gaze casting back towards the gloom that still swallows the tunnels ahead whole. "If this one is easy, so be it; they'll know we're coming, after that. The rest won't be so simple."

"So _optimistic_ , Hawke." When Varric speaks, close behind you, part of you wants to chide him for not staying with Fenris- but no, you aren't sure if you're relieved or upset to hear the murmur of the other just as near. You turn and find the humans still together, though Fenris' gaze is locked on the floor with an intensity that clashes with his paled cheeks. He's so out of place, here, not the light in the darkness like Anders, not the unseen shadow like Merrill. He's the colour of fresh earth and rich clay, stark against the gloom, too vibrant and alive for this rotting pit. He's a breath of life none of you can give, but it's shallow and tight with panic that all of you put into him, a panic so fierce he can't even _look_ at-

"Easy," Varric murmurs, and this time he's talking to _you._

They're all looking at you, all but Fenris, and your hand snaps up to your head, feeling the metal of a crown you haven't worn in centuries. Your eyes flick quickly down your arm, glowing golden against the darkness and shimmering with old sigils that boil beneath your skin, and when the lines form up into the same crest that's weathered into the back of the jacket still hanging on Fenri's narrow shoulders, when they _mock_ you with that memory, you force it all down into the dig of your nails into your palm, the scent of blood and a bitter snort.

The silence is deafening.

"Champion-" Anders starts on a breath, but your eyes silence him, wild and furious.

"We go down." You leave no room for argument, and none of them give it. " _Now._ "

They press on without another word.

♁

The pain in your mind dances at the edges of your vision, flashing lights that come and go and make you see things chasing you that you _know_ are not there. There has been nothing for far too long, the heavy stillness more unnerving than the beasts, and all light-hearted jokes about your luck turned sour and silent all too soon, Anders' shoulders tensing up and Aveline's grip on her sword tightening. Only Merrill still treads calmly, though her eyes are fogged, and you know she is not with you.

Is it her, then, the whispers call to? You thought you would be the first, but Varric did warn you that this time it wouldn't be so simple.

The corridor opens up and you can't help the audible sigh of relief at _space_ and air that's fresher, channelled in from vents hidden high above and washing away the foulness that was pooling thick in your lungs. You draw in ragged gulps of it, and it lifts you, that dark doubts in your mind hazier as clear thought rushes in to replace them, to replace whatever evil this temple was working on you. Maybe it doesn't need guardians, this place? Maybe it _is_ its own protector?

"And there we have it." Varric steps forward, sucking in a long breath himself before gesturing to the dais at the top of the steep steps before you. "I'll bet you all the money in my wallet that what we want is up there."

"I know better than to take a bet against a prophet." You flash him a small smile, and he sighs, shaking his head.

"Always spoiling my fun, Hawke, after all I've done for you..."

The wind picks up, rattling through the roof, as you look back up towards the illuminated platform and extend a mental hand just far enough to test the wards around it. Of course you can't just walk in and get it, God forbid anything be _that_ simple... But you knew that already, and all of this wasn't without purpose.

You look at Fenris, and he blinks at you, casting his gaze quickly between all of the eyes on him and taking a step back.

"What?" He sounds almost normal, but there's a new rasp to it, an edge that echoes the worry in his gaze. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"We can't get closer," Aveline says slowly, and Fenris shrugs his shoulders in a jerky motion, squeezing the hilt in his hand like he expects you all to descend on him and use him as a sacrifice. Honestly, it's not _that_ ridiculous a notion, not with what he's seen now, but you need him to stop moving away, need him to _listen,_ and oh if your mouth wasn't dry again and filled with unsaid words-

"You can, Fenris," Merrill says before you untangle your tongue. She catches him from behind, and though he jumps, when she settles her hands on his arm all the fear melts out of him with unnatural speed. "Please. It's just a small thing, really, just some steps- and once you're at the top, you just pop open what's there, and that's it, we can go."

"That's..." His voice is thick, until her hand slips away, and instantly his hand is on his temples, a low groan leaving him. "What did you _do,_ you _demon-_ "

"I just calmed you down, that's all, I promise!" She wrings her hands, clasping them together and stepping towards him. "Oh, should I not have, I never know what's alright with humans. I'm sorry, I won't again, honest, I won't."

"If I do this, my debt is _paid._ " Fenris snaps it, not looking at any of you in particular, but you can _feel_ the words cut straight at you. "It's over, you leave me and I move on. I'll take my chances with Danarius over demons."

"We aren't-" Anders starts hotly, but you put an arm out, and he quiets, glaring away.

"The debt will be paid," you drone, voice far too flat and far too slow. "You'll never have to see us again."

Fenris turns and pushes past you without turning his gaze towards you, and though Varric opens his mouth like he might say something, nothing is spoken before Fenris starts up the stairs, fixed intently on his goal. You had things to say, you think, but they were foolish, rushed and heavy, and you cannot do that to him, not after everything else.

You think of him by the fire, smiling and muffling laughs into his hand, making Varric choke in disbelief at his jokes and swapping verses with an increasingly excited Sebastian. You think of Isabela making him colour with suggestive comments, and him watching intently as Aveline showed him how to better care for his shotgun. You think of all of it, and then of his gaze in the night, burning a question you couldn't put words to, blazing an answer you still didn't grasp.

You think, maybe, that for a moment he was happy.

Varric touches your arm, and you lean into the comfort, before he tugs sharply and you realise it isn't comfort at all.

A hiss of steam bursts upwards from between your feet and you leap toward the stairs, slamming into the barrier you'd forgotten was there and groaning as you're forced to stagger backwards instead. Cracks are bolting outwards from the steps that Fenris is still rapidly ascending, and as you take a hurried step towards him, part of the ground crumbles away beneath your feet, splashing into bubbling red below, erupting up from the cracking black crust that covers it. Another crack, another part of the floor gone, and Varric barks out a curse.

"Some of us aren't immortal!" He reminds you hastily, "in fact, some of us get killed by lava- we get killed to _death._ "

 _"Lava,_ " Anders repeats with a incredulous laugh. "Of all the _stupid_ things-"

You shut him up by grabbing Varric and throwing him bodily at the Angel, who catches him with only minor fumbling and looks at you in alarm.

"You can _fly!"_ You snap at him, shoving a finger upwards as you dance between pieces of the floor as more gives way behind you. "Get him out of here!"

Anders flares his wings and beats them down hard, and though the floor below him shatters and explodes down into the river of fire, he lifts and swoops up towards the rocky heavens with a scythe of light that lingers in the air behind him. Merrill is fussing over the cracks, encouraging them to slow down, as Aveline turns towards the hall you came from and then shouts a warning, skeletons spilling from it and scrambling towards you with intent in their grasping claws and unholy obsession in their eyes. You charge with her, strike, slice, stab- but more are coming, ever more, and every enemy you thought yourself lucky to escape was just waiting, waiting to trap you between fire and death when you were so _close-_

 _"Fenris!"_ Your roar echoes, and he turns back towards you, scrambling backwards up the stairs as he realises they're crumbling into the fire behind him. _"Quickly!"_

Between your words and the threat of imminent combustion, he doesn't need told again, sprinting the last few steps and then letting out a confused cry you hear above the bubbling and the wailing. He reappears on the precipice- _too close, too close, the stairs are falling faster-_ and lifts a book in his hands, charred black and sealed with pale wax that is still firm even now heat-fueled sweat is rolling down your face and slicking your palms.

 _"This?_ " He screams it, hair whipped in the bursts of steam and rushing winds from below, face lit with gold and red and his eyes manic in the light. "I'm going to _die_ for a _book?"_

"Break the seal!" You pray he can, pray he's the one, pray you weren't wrong and Varric wasn't blinded by your certainty. He hesitates, and you turn from the skull you've just smashed, howling with all the air in your lungs, _"BREAK IT-!"_

And then your voice is gone with the wet slide of a blade between your shoulders, your eyes widening as the tip of it bursts forth from your still chest. Fenris is looking at you, no madness in his face now, as blood starts to pool around the metal and you choke on your words and your life. Aveline's blade separates the hand holding the blade from the arm that thrust it, but it feels distant. Merrill is telling you soon, soon it'll be fine, honestly, just hold on, but her voice is far away.

The stair in front of him is crumbling, but you can't shout to him, stumbling forward and coming down hard enough the last stone beneath you splinters.

It's funny, really, that this cold runs so deep it can overcome all the flames of hell.

You're tumbling forward in slow motion as he raises the book and grips it in his hands, speaking something only he can hear, some curse or oath or promise-

He tears it open, and the seal comes apart with a lightning bolt of gold, the explosion rushing outwards in a ring of white and slamming all the ash from the walls as it deafens you.

_The seal is broken._

The light implodes and drags all the noise of the room into oblivion alongside it. The fire below you fights and blisters, but it blackens and falls to the wave of ice that slides past you, silent and inevitable, each crystalline facet forming into patterns that are as beautiful as they are terrible. Your last breaths are pooling in front of your face, so weak and thin, all the fire and motion now shadow, and stillness, and frost.

The blade in your chest moves, and you think its being pulled out, but instead from around the shifting metal your blood drips upwards, freezing into droplets that hang suspended before your eyes. Your reach out trembling fingers and touch a vivid drop, spluttering out more blood to join them before they flow together, trailing sinuous over your shoulder like the tempting hand of a lover. Your gaze follows it, this trail that curls and knots through the air, to where it is welcomed by slender fingers than are white with the light of the moon in the winter, hands beckoning tenderly as they draw the last of you from your dry-beating heart.

Merrill's eyes slip up from your blood to your face, and they are the black of the end, a void that has nothing but finality within it. Her smile is still gentle, even with frost across her lips and starlight dancing in her hair, and as she turns from you it's with a grace that you feel blessed to have seen again in these last moments of your fading mind.

She spreads her fingers, and your blood resonates between them, singing a note that pierces deep into your bones. The skeletons, the spiders, the darker things behind them, this army of the damned had halted and now they see their error, now they try to charge but Merrill is there and she is smiling, because she knows what comes next.

"Too late," is all she says, voice musical with the song the planets must sing as they dance forever between the stars. Merrill breathes, and it blooms into ice and frost as your blood flakes into a cloud amongst it, becoming sharp points that swell and then fly true, each one darting from her touch to strike a heart, a throat, to pass between unseeing eyes and then burst inside a rotting brain. In a moment, her breath and your blood have found them all, and a struggling heartbeat later they crumple into a second death that she drinks in with a soft smile upon her face that would seem kind to the unwary.

Your blood returns to her, flowing around her coaxing fingers, and the last thing you're aware of before you see darkness is her feet, gliding towards you, and her voice, whispering with the solar wind that you don't have to be afraid.

♁

When you wake up, you're only _mostly_ surprised.

"Oh, thank the Maker, there we are. I knew I could still do it." Merrill squeezes her fingers into your shirt, then draws them back, clasping her hands over her folded knees. "Welcome back, Hawke. You were gone for a little while, there."

"Just a little while?" You force a grin through the ache in your muscles and the icy cold still piercing your chest. "Death wanted rid of me that quickly?"

"Death likes you _just_ where you _are,_ thank you very much." Her cheeks tint pink, now back to the colour of flesh. "Although Maker knows the whole beyond will go to ruin once you're there to make a mess of it. Oh- no, don't try to stand, not yet. We're out, don't worry, you can rest, I promise."

You relax back against the dirt and close your eyes, breathing deeply of the cool night air as you listen to the chirp and hum of the grass around you.

"Everyone's alright?" You ask, once you build the strength to speak again. You crack open an eye when she doesn't answer, frowning up at her chewing her lip. " _Merrill._ "

"Yes! Yes. Mostly. Sort of! _Well._ " She sighs. "Anders is exhausted from Justice being, um, _very_ enthusiastic about getting you to the surface, and Varric's sick as a duck from all the flying, like always. Fenris is- well, his burns _are_ superficial, so _that's_ good! He's just been very... _very_ quiet. We offered to drop him off like he asked and he said no, but he's been awfully," she waves her hands, wincing, "since. He hasn't even been asking questions, Hawke, and he must have a lot, mustn't he? Hawke- no, no, what did I say about getting up, you'll do yourself a mischief-!"

You choose to ignore that, and continue standing, pretending it isn't unsteady at all. Merrill huffs at you, but it doesn't take long for her to point in the direction of the lonely little huddle, off and out at the edges of camp. You limp his way, rubbing over your chest as you go, and when you reach Fenris you slump down more heavily than you intended, swallowing the worry down when he doesn't even jump.

The night is quiet, and you listen, this time able to hear the soft breaths that waver out beside you. The stars are all out, so you trace shapes in them to pass the time, retelling old stories in your mind until at last he speaks, low and barely audible.

"You died."

"...Yes." You glance at him, more nervous that you want to let on. "I do that a lot, really. Usually Merrill takes a lot longer with the whole-"

"What _is_ she?" Fenris doesn't look at you when he interrupts, but at least his voice is clearer now, and that's something of a relief. You sigh, rubbing your nose and flinching at the black still crusted there.

"She's... Death, Fenris."

"Death," he repeats, flatly.

"Yes. Death." You make meaningless gestures with your hand to try to encourage him to believe you. _"The_ Death. The real one. The, you just saw her raise me from the dead, that has to be fairly convincing, one who rides a pale- alright, a pale _bike,_ but the thought is there."

"And..." He casts a glances towards the group around the fire, then finally settles his gaze on you. The question hangs, unsaid but too heavy to deny.

"We're the Riders. The Riders and associates at this point, I suppose." You _have_ picked up an awful lot of people over time. "The seal you broke was one of _the_ Seals, this is us doing _the_ Ride..."

"So the world is going to end?"

"This _age_ is going to end. Good grief, humans are so melodramatic about the whole thing. You can't have new beginnings without old things coming to a close, Fenris. We do this far more often than you'd think."

He frowns at you, narrowing his eyes. "...You're much more... lively."

"Dying tends to do a good job of making you feel alive." You feel more yourself. Maybe it's the taste of Merrill's power in the air, no longer muted and trapped. Maybe it's the thrill of knowing soon you'll be just as free. Maybe it really _is_ the fact you just returned, your heart pounding with life you'd grown jaded to. "I was tired. Now I've slept, and I'm wide awake."

"Whereas I feel like I'm stuck in a dream."

"Oh, well." A hopeful grin splits your face. "That's better than a nightmare."

His lips twitch before he can catch them, and he turns his face away, shaking his head. "...You're a strange person, Hawke."

"It's part of my charm."

Fenris chuckles, breathy and barely there, but your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks. This is the calmest he's been with you, and to think it's _after_ what he saw... You question it, and he rolls his eyes.

"If I'm going to go mad I may as well do it in the company of interesting people, and I have nowhere else to be that isn't running for my life." He rubs his arms, fingers covering the lines that dance across his skin. "Varric went to great lengths to convince me you people aren't demons, though I don't know if I will ever be comfortable with her doing..." He wiggles his fingers. "That thing, that she did."

You nods understandingly, and relax, staring up at the moon.

 _"Well..._ " You cough. "... _Isabela_ is a demon."

Fenris blinks, snapping his face towards you.

You smile back at him, winking, and ignore his demands for the truth, until Sebastian jumps up behind you and says he owes Fenris a good game of cards. Before Fenris can argue, he's dragging the human off to the fire with you limping along after them, humming a happy tune in time to the chords Bianca sings into the night.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go. And now, let us adventure forth! Into something ridiculous, but in a good way, Maker willing.


	3. And So He Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True introductions, then, are needed, beneath the stars and the moon that burns of something long forgotten.

_The Devil held a light to them, burning in his palm,_  
_and said, here, do you see, this light that burns so bright?_  
_He crushed it in his fingers, and though it blazed again,_  
_The flame is not the same, he said._  
_The flame is not the same._

"So is _that_ why you gave me this?" Fenris asks you the next morning, as the sky lingers on the edge of dawn. He tugs on the open collar of the jacket that looks better on him than it ever did on you, and you raise your eyebrows, which earns you the ghost of a smile. "I thought it was a sentimental gesture, but now I see it's more to do with my ability to, what is it Varric says?"

"To die to death?" You realise aloud, and once he nods you smile and lean back in the seat, rubbing your thumbs over the leather between your legs and enjoying the low hum of the engine as it purrs up your arms. "That's a part of it, yes."

"Only a part?"

"Maybe I intended to take it back, but I liked the sight of you in it far too much to bother." Hopefully the embarassing truth of the statment is buried beneath your suggestive smile. "It suits you, Fenris."

"What does? The cut, the leather?" He pauses, fingers slipping over the metal studs and parted zippers, trailing down to catch the hem and squeeze the solid edge between his forefinger and thumb. "The mark you'd have me wear?"

There's a danger in the answer, so you stay quiet, and somehow that pacifies him, settles the tension that was leaking through in the set of his shoulders and returns a softness to his face. Fenris folds his arms, fingers following the curves and dips in the bunched fabric at the bend, then sighs and gives you a look that's unreadable, each emotion you think you catch gone and replaced by another before you can puzzle out what it is.

"I choose to wear this," he murmurs, "and I could stop if I wanted to."

You can't tell if the statement is defiant or accepting, can't tell if he's warning you away or letting you in. All you can manage is a nod, and he turns to face the horizon, drawing in an audible breath that seems to summon up a wind to whip your hair around your head. It settles as he exhales, something more than air leaving him in the moment, something more than quiet pressing against your ears. Awe blocks your throat as Fenris looks back to you, over his shoulder, a smile on his lips and the faded crest between his shoulder blades just as proud as the fire burning steadily brighter in his eyes.

"If I walk with you, I walk beside you," Fenris tells you, the dawn catching his hair and setting a ring of red fire around his head. "I don't fear Death, Hawke, and I don't fear you."

You're breathless as the sun finds him, edging him in gold against the fading night. This moment, this instant, it will shine in your memory, and all the world is faded and grey compared to his life and his light.

"Together, then," you promise, an oath sealed by the fire of the coming dawn and the heartbeat that flutters in your chest. "Together."

There's trouble in your jacket, but as he stands with certainty, he fills out the heavy shoulders and he carries them with ease.

"Together," Fenris echoes, and the sun begins to rise.

♁

Another night brings another fire, another argument over the best way to shuffle cards and another song in the air. Varric's voice is mostly alone as he polishes Bianca, cloth lovingly following her contours between the odd chord he can't help but draw forth from her strings. You watch, the ritual old, soothing, something that's become familiar in the years since he joined you. You forget how odd it might look, so used to the coupling, and it catches your off-guard when Fenris voices something you'd forgotten anyone would care to ask.

"So... Why _do_ you treat it that way?"

"It? _It?_ " Varric grumbles offendedly, cradling her closer. "Don't listen to the mean man, my dear. He doesn't know any better."

"Bianca is a _lady,_ Fenris." Isabela reminds Fenris, draping her arms around his shoulders and pointing a waggling finger at the Prophet and his muse. "We don't insult Bianca, she's the loveliest of us all."

"It- _She_ ," he corrects quickly, between Varric's glare and Isabela lightly slapping his chest, "is a guitar."

"Why the nerve! A guitar? _A guitar_ ? As though my sweet could be picked up and bought in some common store? As though she could be compared to mere _mortal_ instruments?" Varric's fingers fall across the strings and bring notes forth like rain. He closes his eyes, humming and appreciating the way they linger in the air. "Bianca isn't some common girl, my boy. Can't you hear it in her voice? See it in her body? She's a minx, this one, and no other can compare."

"Varric won her in a bet." Isabela swings herself around Fenris and drops into his lap before he can do much more than look startled. She grins and taps his nose as he colours and clears his throat. "I'm amazed he hasn't told you already. _That's_ one of his favourite stories, that and _anything_ involving Hawke, don't even get him _started-_ "

"Tell Fenris about Bianca," you interrupt, before Fenris can finish whatever he's about to ask, his eyes flicking curiously towards you.

"It was long before I met this fine assortment of myths." Varric plucks out a soft musical accompaniment, his voice shifting to the silky tones he reserves _just_ for recounting tales and regaling adoring crowds with his adventures. "I was a young man, in my prime, a chest full of hair and a mind full of dreams that were vivid, incredible, and _ridiculous._ "

"Future visions?" Fenris hazards, and looks pleased when Varric nods. "I heard them call you Prophet."

"That I am, but back then? Back then, I was no prophet. Just a fool with aspirations of grandeur and confusing glimpses of places and people I felt like I'd already been and seen. Some places seemed obvious- They don't really tell you this, but I don't go a week without a vision of where I'm going to be buying milk that day. Some places, though... they were more confusing, and let me tell you, I didn't know _what_ to make of this lot when they showed up in my dreams." Varric chuckles and leans forward, the pace of his melody picking up as Fenris and Isabela listen equally intently to his words. "The first time I snatched a name from the mess, I dropped everything to follow it. I'd waited all my life to understand the visions that I was _sure_ meant something, and there it was, a beacon of clarity in the chaos, a light in the darkness, the place all of my dreams had led to in all of its magnificence..."

_"Where?"_

"Georgia." Varric twangs out a jarring note, laughing as he settles back. "Of all the places in all the world, my mind decided to point me straight to _Georgia._ Now, some people might've been disappointed with this outcome, but not me. I figured that if answers were in Georgia, well, that had just become the most interesting place on the planet."

"So you went?" Varric inclines his head, and Fenris' brow furrows, a sight far too sweet for your liking. "What did you find?"

"Nothing much. Seemed I'd been led on a wild chase, and what did I have to show for it? The clothes on my back, ten dollars in my pocket, and an old guitar I'd found on the side of the road." Varric's eyes sparkle, and though Fenris opens his mouth to ask, with a look to Bianca, the prophet pushes on too quickly to allow it. "So there I was, in the middle of nowhere, figuring I should probably get on home before my brother got himself in a mess without me there to talk his way out of it. Made a sign, found a cross-roads that looked promising, and settled on the edge of the road to play my woes away."

"This is the best part," Isabela whispers, patting Fenris' cheeks. Varric laughs again, strumming Bianca back up to a tune that he keeps in time with the tap of his boot to the dirt.

"Now, a fine looking man, he walks up to me, listens to me play and crooks the sort of smile a fresh-born babe would know not to trust. Tells me I'm the finest player he's ever heard, but he can't help but notice I'm not playing on something befitting my ability. He's got a mighty fine, guitar, that man, and he tells me it's all mine, if I want it. All he wants in return? Just some friendly competition." Varric chuckles wryly, heel kicking back into the earth as he changes key on the strings that once sang under very different fingers. "We see which one of us can play a finer tune, and to the victor, of course, go the spoils. I had nothing to give but Mister Alexander Hamilton, sitting there in my pocket. That didn't bother my new friend, he just told me hey, if he won, I'd owe him a favour that he'd call in some other time."

He leaps to his feet with a chord and a tapped rhythm, slices a louder tune into the night. All attention is lured to his fiesty refrain, a harmony with the fire and the choir of the night, their hums and croaks his chorus and his voice breaking into a song.

"So we shake hands in my foolish youth, but I know when I feel his claws- I think Varric, you're a fool in a hole, and this is the end for sure. But I stood my ground, I'm not the sort to turn my tail and bolt. He struck out a chord on that sweet guitar and I heard it in my _soul_ . Now horns and wings and other things might've terrified a common man, but boy I'd dreamed of days he couldn't _hope_ to understand, so I braced against his fiery breath and I listened to the song he sung, I felt it shake the earth and the gates of heaven but, when it was done-"

His melody comes out fast and quick, his boots stop a furrow in the ground. Isabela claps and Merrill laughs and Varric winks to his rapt little crowd.

"-I played a song of ages, boy, I played it fast and slow, I played him the song the angels sing and no mere man should know. I played him the song of the Horsemen's charge, of the demon's tempting curse; I played him the song of destiny, and with each glowing verse, he stumbled and he fumbled, he fell down to the ground, he begged me no, no more, no more! I crushed him with my sound. And when all was said and done, the Devil fled on his way, but he left behind his golden girl and I carry her to this day. So don't you tell me this here gem, that she ain't worth your time! Bianca was wife to the devil's hands- and now she's wife to _mine_!"

The last notes ring out and Isabela is the first to applaud, grinning up as Varric plants a kiss to Bianca's long neck and then stoops in a bow. You join her, and then Sebastian's hands come together, and soon the little round of applause in earnest and complete, even Fenris adding a slow clap and a wry smile.

"Impressive," he murmurs softly, as Isabela finally slips off him to run over and plant a kiss to Varric's forehead instead, despite his laughed warning that Bianca will be jealous. Fenris' gaze drops to his own hands, and you wonder if he believe Varric's story, if he's realising what Varric really trusted him with, the night under the stars that Fenris played his meaningless songs. "I'll have to remember to give your... lady her due."

"Bianca's a forgiving sort, so just be sure you mind your tongue from here on out and you'll both get on just fine." Varric gently pats her front, returning to settle down and continue polishing her like nothing interrupted the loving action. "She's come a long way since she was slave to him, haven't you, my dear?"

"Can you really hear-?"

"It's best not to ask," you nudge Fenris lightly with your elbow. "Just assume what you will, he has a different answer every single time."

Quiet falls, beyond Merrill singing Varric's words back below her breath, and you let a content smile spread over your face when Fenris leans into the touch of your arm, his fingers slipping to hide in the warm space between the ground and your folded legs. You can feel his knuckles rubbing lightly against your jeans, but try not to dwell on the small gesture, watching Sebastian dole out cards to Anders and Isabela instead.

"...I think I'd like proper introductions."

You don't react at first, and Fenris repeats it, raising his voice enough you realise he was talking to you. He's met you all, knows you, and you stare at him, nonplussed, until he sighs and mutters, "I want to know who I'm _really_ travelling with, because I'm assuming you all have backgrounds just as ridiculous as that song."

"Oh." It's strange, but you hadn't even considered he still didn't know, or that he'd want to. Which... now you think about it, was a fairly odd assumption to make. Of _course_ he needs to be told. "I'm sure we could manage that. Shall we go around the fire in a circle and tell you our names, ages, and how long it's been since we drank?"

"Oops," Isabela remarks cheerfully, and takes another long swig of whiskey.

"Something like that," Fenris replies carefully, eyes flitting around the ground and his fingers moving against your leg again. "I just want to know... I think it's fair, isn't it? I've come this far on lies."

"Well, I'll start," Varric offers up, "as you already heard my best story. My name is the truth, as is what you know of me. I'm a human, I know, you're shocked, you probably thought I was really a dwarf from below the ground. No, no. I'm just a man of unique stature, and one who sees what is coming before it comes to pass. The end of the world, prophecies of heroes... where Hawke left our wallets."

"Hey, that only happened once!"

"One too many times, Hawke, one too many times." The prophet smiles lazily, flashing Fenris a wink. "I saw this merry band in my dreams and lo and behold, when I got home after another trip hunting them, there they were, ruining the neighbourhood. I caught a thief making off with Hawke's wallet- wait, that makes _two_ times I've saved that- and then I just never left. The way I see things, this is the most exciting place I could be, and if I help do some good while I'm at it, everybody wins."

Fenris nods, absorbing it quietly before he looks up at Aveline where her attempts to blend into the shadows are going very poorly. She sighs, setting down the gun she's cleaning and pushing back her fringe from her damp forehead.

"You're... War?" Fenris asks uncertainly, but she nods, averting her gaze.

"That I am. It's a dark title to hold, and I know why you sneer- but I know that I _can_ be just, I must be." She sets her jaw, seizing another gun to begin meticulously seeing to its parts. "I have loved your kind a long time, but I fear you have loved me far too much... What has come of my name is _not_ what I intended."

The bitterness in her voice leaves a lingering, uneasy silence, until Merrill pipes up to fill it with her babbling, clapping her hands together too loudly and too sudden.

"I'm the Keeper of the Gates, which you already know, with the bringing Hawke back, but I think you call me Death- awful name, Death, sounds so miserable, and so silly, I mean Death! Death. It's just a funny sound, isn't it?" Merrill pauses long enough to screw up her small nose, wringing her hands irritably. "I prefer Keeper. That's a lovely word. And it's truer, too! I don't kill people, no, I just look after them once they're on their way, help them find the path to wherever they're supposed to be. Sometimes I catch the ones who went too early, and I bring them back, if they aren't ready to go. Or, if people are lingering too long... I let them sleep. It's just like slipping underwater, for humans. Once last breath and they can rest, can stop struggling and be at peace. I never see why everyone hates me, not for doing that. I know the, um." She glances at the scowl that flickers over Fenris' face. "The blood, that's a bit much, isn't it? But that's not what I _am,_ just something I... do. And I only do it when I have to, really. I don't... it's not really..."

Her voice fades away, and Aveline reaches out quietly to touch her back, Merrill's lips curving in a small, worried smile. Fenris looks like he has something to say, but whatever it is, he bites it back, shaking his head and looking pointedly to Isabela instead.

She stretches like a cat, arching her slender back over her arms as she leans her weight on them, then stands, cupping her neck as she stretches her chest forward and sways her hips with each step towards the fire that separates you. Her smile is broad and teasing, her fingers slipping up to brush her long hair back as she steps into the flames.

"Me?" She asks, as sparks and spitting licks of fire curl up her and set her clothes alight. The ash washes off her with another purposeful stride, the glow of the inferno now stained into her skin and glittering marks tracing over her like veins. Her own burned clothes swirl around her, ash gathering and solidifying into horns stretching back from her face as her dark lips curl and her eyes glow with more than one heated power. "Oh, Fenris. I'm anything you _want_ me to be."

"Desire demon," Varric explains, though you aren't sure if Fenris is listening, his eyes wide and reflecting the deep rose-petal satin of her skin as her fingers slide down it alluringly. "Some call it Greed- Others would call her a Succubus and be done with it."

"Like the view?" Isabela steps nearer, and you think it's only the bite of your teeth coming together that stops her returning to his lap. She hesitates a step away, instead, ducking her head forward and whispering a cinder-filled coo. "I know _I_ do."

Fenris blinks heavily, his tongue wetting his lips, and his fingers almost- _almost-_ slip out from their place against your leg, though Isabela feels your glare on her and flicks her gaze towards you before straightening and stepping back, her horns falling like sand in an hourglass to reform as her clothes upon her flesh, which fades swiftly to the rich colours of the earth. She turns and steps around the fire, collecting her cards and sitting back down with a flush to her cheeks that you'd think was embarrassment if you didn't know her better.

"Anders," you say sharply, and it pains you that he looks to you so quickly and alertly, just as he always does when you call him.

"I won't be doing anything so flashy," he announces curtly, and Isabella gives him a look before seizing her whiskey. "I'm not so cheap as to use my nature as a _gimmick-_ "

"You can't change, you mean," she cuts in, deathly sweet. "That's how it is, isn't it, pigeon? You can't change unless you win a debating contest with your ball and chain."

"I cannot use my power in _vain,_ " Anders snaps, but his body goes tense, his teeth grit hard enough to strain his words. "Justice is dangerous if twisted, that can't be allowed, and it is my responsibility to ensure that Justice only serves those in _need._ " He turns his attention to Fenris, gathering himself more certainly. "You have born witness to my light before this moment, so know that I am the Guardian of Justice, sent to ensure the Horsemen ride for those who need them most, not for their own selfish ends, or the ends of those who would seek to inherit this Earth unjustly. I came from above of my own accord, summoned by the plight of the downtrodden and the innocent, and I will set them _free,_ and see to it that those who abused them are given what they _deserve_ in the coming End."

"So _dramatic,_ " Sebastian drops his cards down, showing his aces and seizing the money that was gathered between them. "It's an interesting way to say that you want to decide for yourself who is wrong, and right, and have the world made in _your_ image."

"I know what's best!"

"You know what's best for _you._ "

"So you are... Famine?" Thankfully, Fenris' question cuts short the start of a debate you've suffered through more times than you can count. Sebastian glances at him, then at you, before shrugging and counting his way through his wins.

"Do I look like I'm in need of anything?" He tucks the notes away, gathering the cards and slowly shuffling them. "I'm just the one who makes sure things are the way they really should be, whatever Anders might say. I make sure your kind are kept safe, and comfortable... well. Not _your_ kind." He glances at Fenris. "But... the ones that matter. And really, that's what counts, isn't it? Laws exist for a reason, same as scriptures, same as leaders. They keep the balance, and everyone gets what they _really_ deserve."

Fenris has never looked as uncomfortable as he does in this moment, his lips thin and his cheeks paled. Something scared and unsettled dances in his eyes, which are locked with Sebastian's as they catch the firelight and sparkle silver and gold.

" _Oppression,"_ Anders spits, and Fenris looks like he's woken suddenly from a nightmare, recoiling and tearing his gaze away. "He isn't just _Famine,_ he's _Oppression._ A struggle of means that's _forced."_

"You're one to talk, _Justice._ If we did things _your_ way, nothing would _ever_ get done, and no one would be there to carry out the law you cherish so dearly."

 _"There's no need for that,_ " Merrill says quickly, but her voice draws all other sound from the air, draws the very breath from your lungs. Anders and Sebastian drop heavily back into their places, and though they may be scowling, they stay silent. She relaxes, and the universe breathes out, the fire snapping back to life between you. "Sorry about them, they get very _emotional_ about these things."

"...I can see." Fenris darts his eyes between them, not quite focusing on Sebastian, before he finally looks to you, gaze warming in a way you like to imagine isn't _just_ the fire. "...So that leaves one."

"It does," you agree, standing and brushing off your legs before you offer him a hand.

"Oh _my_ , does our sweet little urchin get a private performance?" Isabela whistles when Fenris' fingers close slowly around yours, letting you guide him to his feet. He looks uncertain, but when you step back and hesitantly tug him with you, he follows easily. "I'll expect to hear all about it!"

Fenris laughs her off, waving his free hand over his shoulder, though the look in his eyes as he watches you is a far cry from the lightness of his dismissal. You're lost in it, for a moment, that green of fresh growth and the northern sky, lost in all it means and all it _could_ mean, if he let it.

He follows, when you turn and lead the way, holding your hand tightly even when your fingers have let go.

♁

You bring Ferelden to a stop a distance from the camp, kicking out the stand and resting her to it as Fenris' fingers slowly uncurl from your hips, a place his hands found their way to somewhere on the road. He slides off and bends to stretch his legs before he looks up to the sky above you, while you dismount and give your bike an appreciative pet across the handles.

"I'll never get used to the stars," he tells you, softly, and you glance his way in curious silence. "Where I was kept, before all this. It was so brightly lit... the sky just looked black at night, this endless void above me, as empty and pointless as I was told the world beyond the walls would be, for me. Fitting that it's really just as full of light as the world I was denied."

"You never have to go back," you remind him. Fenris nods, glancing over his shoulder.

"When he's dead, I'll believe it. I'm still running, Hawke... I just have company now."

The dust of the dry, cracked earth gently billows past your feet, the wind whistling gently through the quiet moment as he stares up to the heavens and all the glittering specks they contain. His hair is glowing in the moonlight, white as the stars he treasures, shifting softly in the breeze. Below it, your crest is faded into shadow; it doesn't mark him, now, doesn't outshine him, falling dim and meaningless beneath his dazzling light.

"Conquest," your lips form, the word odd upon your lips after so long. For a beat, you think he hasn't heard you, but then he turns, looking you up and down with that expression you can't puzzle out. You don't repeat it, don't explain it; just let the title settle between you and unwind slowly into the whispering wind.

"They call you Champion," he says at last, and you nod, silently. "Conquest, Victory-"

" _No._ "

He looks startled, and you cover your mouth, before laughing the outburst away as best you can, dropping your gaze to find small pebbles on the ground you can shift about with the toe of your boot. "No, not Victory. He's... definitely not me. I'm just the battle, the quest, the push forward. Victory is beyond my grasp. Conquests don't last forever, you see; the world has a way of turning on the Conquerors, in the end." You laugh, shaking your head. "I make a better partner to Oppression, to War, to Death. We're a merry little quartet, aren't we? Justice sees something in me that isn't really there, a power that would turn on him if I let him have what he wants... Greed has great hopes for me, but in the end I'll dash them."

"And... my kind?" He touches your arm, and you grip his in return. When did he get so close to you? "What about us, Champion?"

"I've always been quick to love humanity." It's hard to keep the shake from your words, your gaze flitting like a trapped bird before finally snapping to his face. "But without Victory, and Justice... I always hurt it, in the end. I'm turned against the weak, and they suffer. You... suffered."

" _Suffered_... Do you expect me to blame you for his actions?" Fenris asks it slowly, and you force out a tight shrug, unable to look away from his face.

"You were a spoil and he was a conqueror. Why wouldn't you?"

"You had no part of it," Fenris answers coldly. His fingers bite through your shirt, nails sharp and grip uncompromising. "I may not understand all of this- but I've seen what you're made of. I've seen how you act when they call you what you are."

"The crown is heavy," you whisper to yourself, and grip your jacket tightly, fit so well around his arm.

"You're not like them, Hawke. You're... better, than that."

It barely takes a push for your other arm to slip back and brace against the leather behind you, everything about him far too close and raw for you to do anything but melt at the touch of his fingers and his breath. He leaves scorch-marks beneath your skin, hand ghosting over your throat and holding it for a moment, nails pricking the skin as his gaze locks on yours, unforgiving and deep with promise, with uncertainty, with a brink he could step back from or dive from but lingers on in this moment, this instant on the precipice with the steps to something safer long crumbled behind him.

Fenris holds you in his hands, so close to tearing you apart, then seizes your hair and pushes you back roughly against the solid comfort of your bike as his lips find yours and he breaks you wide open instead.

The world had slowed down and you never even noticed, never saw it grow dim and sluggish around you, but here and now it swings back into motion, thunders forward and grows vibrant with his soul, his heart, his light. You seize his arms, his waist, his hips- your hands seek and push below your own jacket, gripping him and letting him take every messy thing he wants from you with each slick meeting of your mouths. The first soft partings are soon rough bites, tugs, insistent whispers so low in his throat you can't make them out, and you struggle to keep your balance, Ferelden groaning reproachfully beneath the pressure of your combined weight to her side.

"Fuck- _Fuck-_ " He looks surprised when you curse, but that fades back into urgency when you drag him down heavily and land on your back in the dust and the cold comfort of the ground. "Fenris-"

He drags himself over you and silences you, so slight yet filling your awareness. All you can feel is his heat and all you can see is his eyes, snaring your senses, lit like he holds the moon between you-

The light pulls your gaze down to where the dull ribbons on his skin are flooding, a molten river of moonlight pouring from his parted lips to fill in the marks that dance down his throat into the darkness you clothed him in. It's too bright, too sweet to contain, and as the lines form even through his shirt, your jacket, you watch them wind a path across him that's brighter than any star in the sky. Fenris is still pressing kisses to your temples as your hands find the lines and follow them, enamoured and falling into the curve and curl of them, falling into the dizzying familiarity of the paths and the way they frame him.

He finds your lips, and all your thoughts are scattered, the stars upon his forehead burning in your vision even when your eyes slip shut.

Fenris tastes of blood, and metal, and the ghost of something sweeter that you search for with each desperate embrace.

You chase it onwards, ever onwards, until the kisses grow softer, lingering, and sleep curls around you between his touch, and his eyes, and his moonlight lips shaping your name.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE go look at [Daca's gorgeous fanart](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/126519718813) of Fenris from this AU. I had to stop writing to stare at this for a while, and I suggest you do too.
> 
> Nice theories, and keep them coming! I love hearing what people think is going to happen, or what they make of what's already happened. The Khem thrives on theories and speculation, and this fic is made for them.
> 
> (If you have anything to show me, tag it #khemi, or @ me on Tumblr or Twitter!)


	4. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris knew something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is in Fenris' POV.**

_I’m sorry, he said again, though no one stood to hear him._  
_I’m sorry, he whispered, and tears were in his eyes._  
_I thought it best, he choked, head bowed and fingers shaking._  
_I made a mistake, he told Him, but still to ash he fell._

You will remember this moment for the rest of your life.

Of _course_ you knew something was wrong; it wasn't hard to figure it out, with all the little mistakes, absences, conversations that shifted as soon as your were in earshot, mentions of things snatched out of the air when they thought you couldn't hear. _Hawke is forgetting what we are,_ and the other bitter mutterings that Aveline disguised poorly; _this is why I prefer the other one of you,_ cooed at Anders as Sebastian won another game, just like he always did until the day you joined them to watch more closely, and had him throwing his cards down with a thin crust of disgust barely disguising a deep rage.

 _He isn't one of us,_ Anders had hissed in Hawke's ear when he pulled their _Champion_ close, but until now, you hadn't grasped what he really _meant._

You'd thought them all mad, and you stranded in the middle of their insanity- or that maybe this was _all_ a delusion, flickering through your fading thoughts as you withered in Danarius' cells. Before you, now, lies a choice between accepting your madness, or accepting that this, whatever _this_ that you have tangled yourself up in _is,_ that it is _real._

Your headache started when you first peered through the binoculars, and saw men who limped in ways that seemed _wrong._ For a moment your gaze blurred- something was torn, missing, _maddening-_ and then it cleared, and you quickly set about your gun instead, Varric's easy words doing little but weigh on your mind. Down you went, and the depths were awful, far too old to be _here,_ and every time your gaze settled on Aveline something burst behind your eyes and made you wince away towards the dark instead.

But here and now, your headache has given way into a numbness that runs icy down your spine, the fragile walls of your mind torn away as easily as Aveline rips the gate from its hinges with hands that are too small, _too small,_ until suddenly they're _not,_ that painful blur coming into focus as you see her muscles tense beneath gleaming armour all coated with a bloody sheen, see her towering with a mane of fire swaying down her back as she sets the gate aside. The sight is terrible, muddled awe and dread pooling together into a nauseous mix that threatens to overwhelm you, and as the gate is set down you clutch your knife tight enough your fingers begin to buzz.

What will it do for you, if she turns on you? If they all do? Are the others the same, are they hiding behind faces you had almost learned to care for, hiding behind simple guises when really there are Demons under that skin, playing you like a fiddle towards a crescendo that lies somewhere in these awful, murky halls? You have nothing but a knife and the terror pounding in your chest, the instinct to run falling deaf on your frozen muscles.

You blink, once, twice- Try to shake it all away and just tremble instead.

When fingers touch your shoulder you shy away, but the touch is relentless, calming, anchoring you to a reality you fear is crumbling all around you. Varric speaks- he may have spoken before, you don't know- and though you don't make out the words through the rush of blood drowning everything out in your ears, you make out the tone, the intent; somehow, you know then that he isn't one of them.

"We should have left him." Anders' voice slices into your mind, cutting and cold, burning a path of blinding misery in its wake. You try to grasp at it, to pull yourself back to the present using his white-hot presence as a rope, but just as you draw close Anders blazes with a light that slams you back down into the depths of your mind, behind the walls you're struggling to rebuild. Your mumbled pleading for this to stop is unintelligible, even to you. Hawke's shape is indistinct amongst the light, but you see the moment the shadow turns, recedes, and is swallowed up in the mixing swell of fire and illumination that manage to make the darkness even harder to see past than it already was.

"Hawke," you babble, the world seeming sharply less certain without the presence you hadn't even realised was a comfort. Varric steadies you, murmuring useless comforts, but your thoughts are focused on _Hawke._ Why is the short distance such a burden?

Sound fades again, mutes behind a wall of denial and fear, and Varric leads you on, on and down. You should run, you should free yourself of this, but on and down you go, through muffled words and golden glow, a prayer tumbling muddled from your lips that you lost control of the moment it began. On, and down, your steps drum the way to fate, and you follow them, numbly, down and down and down.

♁

Something lifts from your chest when you breathe in fresh air, your voice stuttering to silence and your eyes rising from the ground. Whatever oil was pooling in your lungs is vanquished, whatever hag sat on your back is sent scuttling back into the dark, and as your chest swells with breath and life, your gaze turns upwards, towards the dust that swirls through the air in ribbons and catches the dim light to form a glittering halo around the grand staircase sliced into the mountain the room is formed around, leading up to some platform hidden from view. You gaze at it, wondering, _curious_ , and though you know curiosity killed the cat-

Your gaze drops to Hawke, laughing with Varric, still smiling, still hopeful-

-Satisfaction brought it _back._

You could run. You don’t know how far you’d get, but you could turn and leave, now. Why don’t you want to? You were terrified for your life seconds ago, but now all you can think is _what, why, how-_

Answers don’t lie anywhere but here.

Nor does Hawke.

You bury that thought before it can flower into something you’re afraid of, you throat tightening even with the ghost of it in your mind. No. There are some things you won’t _allow,_ and that- whatever _that_ was, that threatened to spill loose from a darker vault than the one that fell apart today- that is something you will bury beneath everything that’s left of you, it _has_ to be.

...Doesn’t it?

Oh God, they’re looking at you, all of them, silent and apprehensive like they _want_ something. Did you miss a question? How long have you been staring back at them blankly? Is this where they reveal you’re a virgin sacrifice? _Oh,_ you _will_ have to disappoint them.

“What?” No one answers, and you look between their faces for something to tell you what’s expected of you. “...Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“We can’t get close,” Aveline explains, voice tense and slow, and it sounds just the same, even with her like _this._ Her hair can burn and her eyes can be raging infernos, but she still sounds just the same. Is she, under that? How honest have they been with who they are, even if the lies told about _what_ they are are almost _impressive_ in their scale. You shrug, as words seem to be too difficult for you to manage, your grip tightening on your knife just in case they really do need an offering of blood and you’re about to have to fight off people you’d actually started to _care_ for, but obviously that’s another mistake you were about to make, something else you can’t do-

“You can, Fenris,” Merrill speaks too close to you, her soft words making the back of your neck stand on end. You know she was following Aveline’s words, not your thoughts, she must have been, but as she grasps your arm you see something in her eyes and you can’t help but _wonder._

And then something cool and thick jolts up your veins and into your head, tangling all your thoughts up and stifling your fear and worry, your body going loose as you fight to remember what you were thinking about. The touch on your mind is gentle but unyielding, and when Merrill speaks it slides straight under you skin, _go up. Open it._ It’s too close to an order, and you should hate it, should panic, but all you feel is numb.

“That’s…” That’s a _command_ and you are not her _slave,_ you think, but it doesn’t leave you, and even when her hands pull back and the cold in your head unwinds just enough to think, the ice presses away the bite from your words. “What did you _do,_ you _demon-_ ”

“I just calmed you down, that’s all, I promise!” Though she wrings her hands nervously, the pressure behind your eyes is still fading, and if this is _just calming you down,_ you can only think she mistook your entire mind for a fit of anger. Merrill babbles on but you can’t manage to look at her now, let alone listen. Your chest remembers how to feel fear, to feel _rage,_ and both drop into the pit of your stomach as you grit your teeth and find somewhere to look that isn’t _her,_ isn’t _any of them,_ your momentary hope lost under the sting of an order you were expected to follow like a dog.

“If I do this, my debt is _paid._ ” It comes out short and sharp, too many memories threatening to surface, a voice you want to forget reminding you that obeying is all you’re good for. “It’s over, you leave me and I move on.” Something in you recoils from your own words, doesn’t want to go, doesn’t want to leave this- leave- “I’ll take my chances with Danarius,” you remind it coldly, curling your free hand into a tight fist, “over _demons._ ”

“We aren’t-” Anders begins, voice begging for a fight, and you’re ready to give it, but something quiets him. You almost look up to see what, but you keep your eyes trained elsewhere, don’t give them the satisfaction of it.

“The debt will be paid.”

It’s Hawke who says it, and some of your bitter fury unwinds at the dead tone. You wanted anger, you wanted acceptance, you wanted _something-_ but there’s _nothing_ in those words, nothing but a repetition, a blank confirmation. Something stings in your nose and you blame it on the dust, as Hawke draws in a shallow breath. “You’ll never have to see us again.”

 _That’s not what I want,_ you think before you can stop it, and you bite it back. For you own sake, it _is_ what you _need._

You can’t look at Hawke, not after that, so you push past all of them and focus on the stairs instead. Look at you, doing just as you were told, pretending it’s your choice. Just bargaining to make the order easier to manage, to get the most out of it before obeying just like you always _would._

Danarius laughs deep down inside you, and fire burns your skin where his touch still lingers.

You thought you’d escaped, but you just ran to new masters who hid their intent behind calm smiles and kind laughter. You’re still just here to do their work for them, to sully your hands where they won’t, and you really thought things were different now but maybe fate has ceased to see you as anything but a _slave._

Well fate is _wrong._

You take more steps, and try not to think of the warmth that had begun to grow in your chest, one you don’t think you’d felt in all your memory. From the moment you woke up with nothing but pain and a Master to the moment you blasted a man away and found wide golden eyes waiting for you after he fell, you don’t think you’ve been _happy._

And then there were these people who treated you like you meant something, and reminded you how to laugh, and smile, without worrying you would be punished for it. They let you speak when you were used to silence, and let you breathe when you were used to being choked by more than a collar on your neck. You felt like maybe you had found somewhere you could start again, if you’d ever started at _all_ after he took everything from you.

You felt like maybe that golden gaze was going to mean something to you, or maybe that somehow it already _did._

Maybe if all this is a delusion and you wake to find it was never real, it will hurt less than having the weight of walking away on your shoulders. You keep telling yourself leaving is best, but it’s so hard to believe, each step feeling harder, feeling more inevitable, feeling more lonely even when they’re right there behind you.

The cold touch haunts your thoughts, but a warmer one fights it. You think of leather under your fingers, of a laugh carried back on the rush of the wind. Sparkling eyes over a shoulder and the whole world fading away but for you, and Hawke, and the song of an engine beneath you.

_You shouldn’t feel this way._

“ _Fenris!”_

The ground shakes with your name, and you turn, your heart plummeting at what greets you. They’re entangled in a fight but for the light that now burns above like the sun, and Hawke is staring at you in a panic, hopping back from the edge of the crumbling floor as fire whips below. Why aren’t they coming up the stairs- _the stairs!_

You scramble back as the stone cracks with hissing fissures and falls away behind you. Every fibre of you screams instinctively, _get away, run, get to Hawke-_ but the only way is up, the space between you both consumed by fire, so when another roar shakes your soul you don’t even need to pick out the words to understand, and turn, and _flee_.

A few dizzying steps have you over the edge, fingers clawing to drag yourself up in a mad scramble. Steam bursts behind you, heat hazes the air, and your heart drums, drums, forces you on, on-

The cry the rips out of you is urgent, hurt, _confused._ All of this, all the risk and the pain, and all that sits before you is a book, resting on a humble altar. It’s in a ring of ash, blackened beyond legibility, only the pale wax holding it closed somehow intact. It must be magic, it must _do_ something, they wouldn’t have done all this…

You seize it, and the cover flakes at your touch, flaring with heat and a dim glow like the fire that consumed it has only just faded. You shake, eyes searching for something more, but the seal is strong and even as you tug in your fear, it won’t come open.

Before you can think, you’re at the edge of the stone, holding the book high and barely wincing at the furnace-blast that sets your face burning with heat.

“ _This?_ ” You scream, the winds rising around you and the stone behind you starting to hiss and shift. The bubbling river of fire has them surrounded now, their floor shrinking as skeletal mockeries of men stumble at them and fall to their knives. Your heart thunders as Hawke steps back (the edge too close, _too close_ ) and you laugh, raspy and lost in the howl of the infernal gale. “I’m going to _die_ for a _book?”_

“ _Break the seal!_ ” Hawke’s voice has the rock below you resonating, another skull exploding before across all the distance and the haze, gold eyes find yours and pierce into your soul. “ _BREAK IT-!_ ”

The world stops.

Hawke blinks, once, as the sword shoves brutally forward in a spray of blood. You can’t make out what held the blade, can’t see the fire now, or anything else. Just Hawke, looking at you, everything draining from you but agony that clashes with the empty surprise in those eyes you would do anything to see light up again.

You never fell in love with Hawke. You've fallen in love before, and it was _brutal_ , painful, it tore you apart as emotion clawed through you and left you gasping for the breath only one could give you. It was burning, _vicious,_ and you hated every agonising moment of it even as you willingly pushed yourself further into the depths.

But you didn't _fall in love,_ not this time; you just looked into your heart and found Hawke already there, fit into a hollow carved out for that one, small smile, and the softness of simple eyes that hid the strangest of souls behind them.

You're in love with Hawke, aren't you?

All around you, the world is falling apart, ground crumbling into the gaping mouth of hell while reality itself fractures with the muted thud of knees to failing floor. Hawke is looking at you, still, and you think there's a scream burning in your throat but nothing is coming, nothing is happening, you're just standing doing _nothing_ and there's blood seeping up around the blade-

You look down at the book in your hands, and grasp it, your last hope, last chance. If they're willing to die for it, its pages must have _something_ in them worth dying _for,_ but as you raise it you pray to anything that chooses to listen that if anyone dies today, it is not here, it is not _Hawke._

"You _owe_ me," you plead to the listening ear of the universe, and dig your fingers in hard enough the charred pages come apart to ash around your fingers as you hold your breath and rip your arms outwards, throwing the book open to the heavens and sending the shattered seal fragmenting into the air.

A wave tears out and light rushes down your arms in lines that blaze above the leather, burning your chest and up to your lips as they part in a shaky gasp. The ash is falling from the walls, knocked free by the shockwave, and as it rushes in you brace, slammed against invisible walls on all sides as your ears ring with silence.

_Do you think he’ll remember?_

You blink, dizzy and staggering, the voice a ghost in the quiet.

_He can’t find what isn’t there._

You fall to your knees, book still clutched like a lifeline in your aching fingers. The world sparkles, spins, before a rush of icy air has you letting out the breath you were holding, spluttering and choking as you feel a cold that you _know,_ down in your _bones._

You look to Merrill, and she looks back with all the darkness of hell inside her hollow eyes.

She raises a hand towards Hawke, fingers turning pale enough they glow. Everything about her distorts like an afterimage left on a television screen, and though you see her, you _See her_ in the same place, made of moonlight and stars and swathes cut from the sky. Your head aches again, thumping in your temples, but you force yourself to look, to watch as Hawke shudders and slumps and Merrill’s fingers _twist-_

The scream sticks in your frosty throat.

You try to deny what you’re seeing, but this time it’s so vivid and awful that it tears all your protections away, leaving you open and raw to the sight of Hawke’s blood being drained to Merrill’s waiting palms. She shapes it, mockingly tender, as she turns to face the coming rush of bodies and blades, but Hawke is pale and falling forward, Hawke is what matters and why is nobody _doing anything?_

“Too late,” Merrill’s voice whispers in your ear, and at last the scream escapes.

It echoes, high and shaking, as she moves and the impossible creatures are ripped apart before her. You scream, on and on, until your lungs burn and your voice is hoarse, but the cold is swallowing the sound, you _know_ it, and as Merrill turns to Hawke and steps forward, you know Hawke can’t hear you.

You kick, when an arm closes around your waist, scratch and sob at Anders as he holds you firm and drags you from the edge. Varric is close as you fall, pleading with you to just breathe, but damn them all to _Hell_ why did none of them _help?_

You shove away from Anders before you reach the ground, crashing down painfully on your shoulder. Merrill says your name in alarm but you’re on your feet and running at her, fingers curled into claws and vision blurred with tears.

“ _Put it back!”_

The ethereal vision that surrounded her cracks and shatters at your words, and she hurries, only Aveline’s sword slamming out in front of you halting you before you could reach Merrill to tear out her throat. Merrill murmurs and beckons the blood to flow back into the wound, into Hawke’s body, but all that happens is a spluttered cough has it spilling back out, and red starts to well and spread around the blade all over again.

“No, _no._ ” You force your way past Aveline, tumbling to your knees and pressing your hands around the wound, not caring when the blade slices your skin open. “No, stop, _no._ ”

“Fenris,” Varric sighs, close to your shoulder. You growl and grab your shirt, tearing off a long white strip and bundling it up into the spreading pool of blood, choking as it starts to flood with red. Hawke is still too still, too pale, why is nobody helping you, _why is nobody doing anything-_

Varric eases out the sword despite you pleading not to, then puts his hands over yours, adding pressure and stilling them. You splutter on a wet gasp, shaking your head when he starts to ease your hands away. Hawke’s blood is still so warm, there’s still time, there has to be.

“I know it hurts,” Varric clasps your hands in his, the bloody rag held tight inside them. How can he _know?_ Even _you_ don’t understand this agony that’s tearing your chest to pieces, this cold that’s so much deeper in you than even Merrill’s presence was. You don’t understand. You blink wetly and look at the blur of Varric’s face. _You don’t understand._

“If Hawke hadn’t been distracted-” Anders babbles, “If Hawke hadn’t been looking at _you-_ ”

“ _Don’t,_ ” Varric warns sharply, but Anders grabs your shoulders, dragging you up to face him. His face is cracked, a dropped porcelain doll with the blazing rage of heaven burning beneath his skin, but there’s pain in his eyes that’s human and familiar, the same one that you feel in your fluttering heart. His teeth grit like he’s going to yell, but nothing comes but an ugly sob, and he drops you, shaking his head.

“Why is it _you?_ ” His wings flare, the shapes shifting and slicing the air. “Why is it always _you?_ ”

There’s no answer you can offer him, nothing you can say. Anders hunches in on himself, the fissures in him swirling with blue, until all at once his wings are slumped against the ground, whole and unbroken, and he lifts his head to look at you with a cutting impassiveness, all the passion in his face drained away.

“We should leave,” he says in a voice that isn’t his, deep and ancient. Anders, whatever it is that speaks through his lips now, steps towards Hawke, and you jolt with fire in your chest, knocking his arm aside.

“ _I’ll do it!_ ”

The Other Anders looks at you, then nods calmly, turning away. “So long as you can manage.” He murmurs, pausing in step as he draws a staff made of white fire from his palm and rests the tip to the ground, melting the frost around it.

“He is sorry,” he says quietly, turning his head enough you know it’s meant for you.

“What?” Rage bubbles up in you. “For _this?_ ”

“For everything,” Anders’ lips reply, and then in a flap and a burst of speed he is gone, the screams of what he finds down the hall echoing out into the cavern. You blink fast, then turn back to Hawke, carefully tucking the bloody cloth into your pocket before you start to brace and lift. Varric helps, slow and easy, never moving to take Hawke from you, and at last the weight on your back is steady there, and you stagger to your feet and start to walk with slow steps, back towards the surface that feels a lifetime away.

They fight around you, ahead of you, you think, but you don’t care. All you care for is the arms around your shoulders, the parted lips that are silent and still near to your cheek. You care for the blood that slicks your back, and the legs that are cold where your fingers touch them through torn denim. You care for the voice you still hear laughing in your memory, even as it starts to fade.

“This is too slow,” Anders decides at last, and you don’t really grasp what he means until he turns, fingers outstretched and eyes focused just over your shoulder.

_No._

_No-_

_"Don't touch Hawke!_ "

Anders- the _thing_ that _calls itself_ Anders- recoils as if stung, scowling at your wild eyes. You stagger back, pulling Hawke with you and clutching tighter to the leather that's slick beneath your bloody fingers, and the false pulse you're still pleading to be beneath it.

"Don't touch Hawke," you repeat, but now it's barely a breath, stuttering out between tears and the trembling you can't stop no matter how hard you try. "Don't-"

"Steady now," Varric murmurs, catching your arm, and though you twitch you calm, you know he won't try and take Hawke from you. He understands that this is _your_ place, only yours. "It's alright." _How?_ Hawke is gone. Nothing will ever be _alright_ again.

Anders flies forward again with a mutter in a tongue that buzzes through your ears but means nothing to you. You stay still, locked in place, until you are sure he is gone, then gasp out a shudder and a fresh wave of tears, clutching Hawke close and hunching over.

Varric helps you steady yourself, and then you walk, up, and on.

Hawke’s loose fingers sway in time, and fill the melted footprints with dripped blood.

♁

“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you somewhere?” Aveline repeats, her voice holding the hint of concern you’re growing steadily more sick of. Now Anders has disappeared into the night sky and Merrill has taken Hawke from you (kicking and screaming and _no, no,_ but Varric pleaded that it would bring Hawke back and, sobbing, you let go) the others seem to not know how to console you, what to say, between vague mumbles and repeated questions about if you want to go, like you said, remember?

You _do_ remember. You swallow the bitterest retorts, and instead settle for short, hollow replies.

“No. I want to stay.”

This time, at least, she doesn’t ask _are you sure, you did say you wanted to go, we aren’t keeping you_. Instead Aveline nods and walks away, and you watch her back recede, now looking as human as she pretends to be. Questions remain, trapped butterflies in a rusted cage, but they’re silenced under the smothering weight of Hawke’s absence.

You gaze travels again to Merrill, distant, her form hunched over the still shape on the ground. If magic is real, if what you have witnessed is true…

Let it give you _this_.

“Apparently,” Varric announces, and you jump, cursing and glaring at him for getting so close to you so _quietly._ “I have to convince you that we are not, in fact, a company of demons, here to ferry your soul off to hell.”

“I don’t really think you’re demons,” you admit mutedly, folding your arms across your bent knees. “I think _she_ is something _worse,_ and that you are all- _something._ But if I intended to leave, I would already be gone.”

“Hard to leave when you realise what you’ve got here, isn’t it?”

You watch Varric settle beside you, his guitar in his hands and his fingers following the grain of the wood without looking. He looks to the stars instead.

“I don’t… have anything here,” you tell him at last, and he laughs, shooting you a disbelieving smile.

“You do. And I know you’re afraid, but that thing will be back and laughing about this soon, you’ll see.” His certainty is infectious, and you take a long breath, hoping he’s right. You don’t know what you’re going to do if… No. That isn’t something you want to think about. “Have faith, Fenris. Would Hawke let you down?”

“...No.”

Varric’s eyes sparkle, and he hums. “And why are you so sure of that?”

It’s an odd thing to ask, after trying to reassure you, but you allow it, contemplating it quietly. Of course Hawke would never let you down, you know that, you know that because-

Oh.

"I trust Hawke." The irony of it strikes you instantly, and you cover your mouth to stifle the mirthless laugh that threatens to escape. You trust Hawke completely, but you can't explain why- you don't _know_ why, do you? "Oh God."

"Careful. Never know when He'll actually be listening." Varric nudges you, his smile painfully knowing and kind all at once. "Seems to me there's a lot you need to think about, a lot of questions to be asking yourself just as much as us."

"I don't have an answer." The words are as soft from your mouth as they were when they were said to you. Varric touches your shoulder, and you wonder if his foresight- that’s what he has, isn’t it, that’s why they always ask him, why he always _knows-_ lets him see the tightness in your chest.

"Way I see it, there's always an answer. Some are just buried deeper than others, that's all."

You nod, and hazard, “I have questions, about all of you, I just… Now isn’t…”

“There will be a better time,” he agrees, hand sliding back to the wood. “Focus on what matters, Fenris, and it will show you what you need to see.”

The quiet settles and stills, and Varric strums a soft song, that winds pleasantly between the stars and soothes you, at last. You believe him, now, that things will be better, and even if you don’t know _how_ or where this path is leading you, that song makes it feel easier to walk it, without the bite of icy power that was forced on you before.

It’s just music, played with heart and human spirit, and you will fight anyone who tells you that isn’t stronger than whatever magic they possess.

“I love Hawke.”

The words slip out easily, but it’s heavy between you, _real_ in a way it wasn’t before. Varric plucks a few notes aimlessly.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “I know.”

A swoop and a flash of lightning herald Anders return, and Varric looks over his shoulder to the group, and Anders staggering to his knees between them. “I should deal with that,” he murmurs apologetically, but you nod, wave a hand, let him go. His song recedes and the night goes quiet, but for cicadas serenading you as you get lost in your thoughts.

The cloth is dry, when you take it from your pocket, but still as vibrant as it was when the blood ran fresh. You reach behind you, but no, the blood that you brush from Hawke’s jacket is dry, brown, crumbling over your fingertips. You rub it away, and stare at the mesmerising red, glancing over your shoulder on instinct before you ease up your sleeve and expose the scars cuffs and whips left up your arm, when they were your law.

You bear a mark on your back for all, but it is simple, a show of loyalty, perhaps.

The band you knot around your wrist is not for anyone but you, and you try not dwell on what that means.

You tug your sleeve down, rubbing the leather as you focus on the feel of the fabric to your skin, before you sigh and look up to the stars above you, beautiful and limitless, endless in their promise.

When at last, footsteps come towards you, you close your eyes and pray.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello naughty children, it me, the Khem.
> 
> Firstly, go look at [this amazing fanart from this chapter](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/126855609298/they-fight-around-you-ahead-of-you-you-think) by the one and only Daca.
> 
> Thank you very much for the feedback so far, all your theories and comments on here, Twitter and Tumblr have been making my days. I love seeing what you think! This fic is dripping with things to be interpreted and wondered about, and seeing people get involved in it is amazing.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with it so far! You are all too wonderful to me, honestly.


	5. These Marks of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's funny, how quickly a day can change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Back to Hawke's POV.**

_I have sinned like no other, my soul is tainted black,_  
_My halo is long gone and my wings have long since cracked,_  
_But if I could do anything, somehow replay that act,_  
_Then oh, love, I swear to you,_  
_I would take it back._

"By light above and fire below, our lost companions have returned from their great adventure!" Isabela has always done a good impression of Anders, and you laugh as you finally let Ferelden hum to a stop, helping Fenris off first before dismounting yourself. She's found a stick, somewhere, holding it like a staff as she walks proudly up towards you with her hair pulled back from her forehead and her nose pointed upwards, a blanket pulled over her like the robes he used to wear. "Allow me to check you for wounds with the _maximum_ amount of physical contact I can, Hawke, for you are the one light in this darkness, and I am always here to assist you... _intimately._ "

"Make her stop," the real Anders groans pleadingly, somewhere behind her, and you hear Sebastian snort.

"Oh lighten up, _Andy_. I think she does you pretty well."

"Maybe we should give him a break, hm?" You wink at Isabela, and she sighs and casts her blanket-robe aside. "I hear he had a hard time down in the hole."

She grins broadly, eyes glittering. "Well I can think of one hole that'd give him a _very_ hard time."

Fenris coughs down what _might_ have been a laugh, turning away, and she gives him a fleeting glance, before her smile drops, and she turns to look at him openly. You're uncertain, briefly, before you glance over and see the scuffs and dirt on the back of your jacket, the tell-tale signs of a back that had been forced perhaps a little too eagerly to the ground, and groan, covering your own face before you see the eager grin that lights her whole face up, the one you just _know_ will be there.

"So _that's_ why Varric told us not to go looking for you!" Lord, her attention is latched onto you so thickly you can feel it, patting at your heated cheeks as her gaze burns you up even through your eyelids. "Oh, _oh,_ now then, little wolf, _this_ is a story I _have_ to hear."

"There isn't a story to tell," Fenris answers carefully, and you hazard a look at them, Isabela grinning like a mad cat peering at her mouse, and Fenris pointedly staring at the phone he still refuses to admit the source of. Merrill has crept up, her hands settling around Isabela's waist and Isabela's fingers rubbing the shape of her tattoos. "Things happened. Things are done, for now. Next time you'll have to ask about tickets if you're looking for some kind of show."

Merrill pipes up, "Hawke-?"

" _There aren't tickets,_ " you clarify quickly. She pouts, and Isabela pats her folded arms.

"Well you two are no fun at all," the Demon sighs. "But I _will_ get my story, even if I have to ask Varric to recount what I assume were some _very_ vivid dreams, given how he woke clutching his head and speaking of you both in such _glowing_ terms."

"He said he wants to kill us, didn't he?"

"Of course he did, but it means he Saw, and I'm _dying_ to know if below your decks is as plain as the black sails you're flying, or if you couldn't keep all your gold tucked away in a hidden chest."

"Well I could ask the same question!" You laugh and step towards her, wiggling your fingers, and Isabela dodges deftly away, leaving Merrill to wander tentatively over towards Fenris with her newly empty arms. "What treasure lies down in _your_ undergarments?"

"That's an odd place to keep treasure," Merrill observes thoughtfully, blinking over at you both. "Seems awfully uncomfortable."

"I'll... explain another time, Kitten." Isabela slaps your hand away when it darts forward, and you share a snicker. _"Undergarments,_ though, Hawke. _Really?_ "

"It's the word for it!"

"Oh, I know, but you really think I _wear_ those?"

She smacks her hands together when you choke and cover your mouth to silence the laugh that bursts out, triumph in her eyes. Fine, this conversation, you'll give her, but _next time,_ next time you'll get her back, you'll come out on top- Not like _that,_ and thank _Heavens_ you didn't blurt that out, but you _will._ The dirty talk between you is a sport, and keeping it polite and filthy all at once, that's a _talent._

"What a lovely picture of Hawke," Merrill hums, and all thoughts of that talent disappear, your gaze snapping to Fenris as his face darkens with a blush and a scowl, his phone pulling close to his chest. He steps swiftly away, but no, you aren't letting that one go, bounding over and sweeping an arm around his shoulders.

" _Fenris._ "

"...Hawke."

"What picture is this?"

His mumble is unintelligible, but bless Merrill, she's there to inform you, "it's so sweet, Hawke, really. You look so peaceful when you're sleeping."

" _Fenris,_ " you repeat, but the human is under your arm and back-stepping rapidly away from you before you can tighten your grip. "Oh no, _nope,_ come back here and show me how _peaceful_ I am, Fenris-"

If anyone else did such a good job of evading you, you'd likely be annoyed, but Fenris is a special exception, one who can push you further than you'd allow anyone else to. He leads you away from the others in the chase, and you don't think twice about following him. When did it become that way? Likely the very moment you set eyes on him, and Fate decreed in her typical self-assured fashion that _this_ man, _this_ moment, they would be your undoing, they would be what finally warmed your hollow heart. You lost so much, but finally the world has given back to you, and its gift is _magnificent,_ just as glorious dancing away from you with a phone in his hands as he was lit by wrath and power with a book held high in his fingers.

Fenris is everything, isn't he?

But why did she choose _him_ , of all she could've sent?

You catch his wrist and he stiffens as the leather cuff starts to ride up, dropping his protective grasp on his phone to tug his sleeve down sharply instead. In that instant, you've got the phone from him, holding it out of his reach when he grasps for it back.

You are indeed sleeping, on his background, and he is curled against you, behind you, peering drowsily over your chest at the camera to judge the shot. The first rays of dawn light you both, and the moment is so intimate, such a treasure you normally wouldn't have seen, that your smile becomes far too emotional far too quickly. He'd already moved, when you woke, but here...

"I can't believe you took this," you murmur. _I'm glad you did_. "I look awful." _I wish you'd stayed._

"You look fine," he grouches, but the tone is forced. He takes his phone when you offer it, brushing his thumb over the edge of it and look silently down at the screen with that _one_ expression, the one that _kills_ you, the one you want to understand more than _anything._

"It'd look better if there was more of you in it." His gaze shoots up, and you grin at his deepening flush, a nervous smile flitting over his lips. "A better face than mine, for sure."

You reach up, hand cupping his cheek and thumb idly running down one of the lines that splits his jaw, your gaze soft. His forehead creases, hand rising to loosely hold your wrist, as you follow the line down to the fern spread across his throat, remembering the glow that burned through his clothes, the mesmerising dance of light across unseen skin that had you speechless. Your voice remains, now, and after you appreciate the moment, you put it to better use.

"Where did you get your tattoos?"

Fenris blinks at you, placidly, eyes dazed, before they sharpen into focus, his face twisting.

"...Tattoos?"

There's movement, over his shoulder, but you blunder on with a nod and a frown. "Yes... The marks all over you? They are tattoos, aren't they, I can't think what else they'd be."

"Marks..?" He looks down, tugging his shirt forward and looking down at the tree that flowers over his chest, before he narrows his eyes at you instead, stepping back and rubbing his chin where your fingers lingered. "What marks? Are they on my back?"

"No, they're right..."

This time, when Varric gestures from behind Fenris and waves his hand agitatedly in short motions over his own throat, you stop, and laugh, and raise your hands dismissively. "...Probably just some side-effect of the Seal or something. Magic loves dramatic flair."

"Will it go soon?" He bites back, agitation flaring in his stance. You nod hastily, and though he looks uncertain, when Isabela calls for him, Fenris steps around you and hurries towards her.

You all but lift Varric off his feet in your rush to get him at a safe enough speaking distance.

_"What in Hell's fire-?"_

"He can't see them," he explains, smooth and swift. "Nor can I, Hawke, but I can See them when I'm not looking with the eyes on my face. You've seen how he is with magic... maybe informing him he's covered in enough of it to down a lesser Deity isn't _exactly_ a wise decision?"

"He can't _see_ them? But they're..." You gesture all over your chest, and Varric rolls his eyes.

"Trust me, I know. I Saw more than I wanted to of _both_ of you, and I Saw _just_ how far down the swirlies get."

You look back at Fenris, who has been seated next to Aveline and now seems to be involved in an impromptu game of truth or dare with the ladies, where Isabela decides whose turn it is and either dares them to tell her something or gets them to answer the truth of it. He still rubs at his jaw, his throat, and you regret drawing his attention to it, the nervous skitter of his fingers far too obvious and unpleasant, so you turn your thoughts to pleasant things like that will somehow calm him, even at this distance.

"...You know. Last night, we didn't take our clothes off."

"Well lucky you, Chuckles, looks like you get a round two."

Fenris drops his hand to his knee, and you breathe a sigh of relief, his focus shifting more intently to what he's saying, something about a bar and a fight with some men who you gather faired all the worse for the encounter. He seems strangely relaxed, recounting such a vicious story, his tone matter-of-fact and his eyes calm, maybe even... empty.

It sends a small shiver down your spine.

"Why don't we go join them?" Varric asks, and you're all for telling him to leave them to it until you see his expression, brows arched pointedly and head tilted up at you. Before you've even finished opening your mouth to agree, he's wandering over, and though that worry still stings at you, you follow the word of your Prophet, and follow without complaint.

"...That's a lot of men for one slave," Isabela's laughter is gone from her voice, fascination dripping in its place. Fenris shrugs, casting you a glance as you settle beside her, fixing his gaze on the floor after a moment of indecision where it searches for anything but your face. "Someone really wants you back."

"Apparently." Fenris clenches his fingers, knuckles paling. "I wonder what he'll think if he finds me in present company. I once said I would unleash the hounds of Hell on him, if I had the chance. This... is not what I had in mind, but I suppose it will do."

"Charming," Aveline's lips twitch, something so rare seen these days that you think you must have imagined it. "Most people would be in awe of the Horsemen charging for them- but oh, for you, we'll _do_."

"I've spent time with you. It's hard to be intimidated or awed by..." He doesn't finish it, but Aveline looks at Merrill as Isabela looks at you, and Fenris coughs down a chuckle. "It's difficult. Maybe it hasn't sunk in, yet, or if it has perhaps my mind couldn't really take it."

"What did you do before Danarius?" Merrill asks lightly, and Fenris tenses, his brief smile vanishing. "Sorry- that's the name you said, below, before. I thought it must be his, the man chasing you. Before all that though-"

"His house was all I had ever known," Fenris tells her icily, and she nods, doing her best to continue being calm and patient.

"You were raised there?"

"That isn't what I _said_."

His words don't so much end the line of questions as set fire to it and burn it ash and bitter cinders, and the game seems done, that one fleeting set of answers all you're allowed. You'll have to ask what you missed, later, learn what you can, but for now there is just silence, thoughtful for some, heavy for others, but woven altogether into a mutual end.

Until, that is, Fenris breaks it, with a hand grasping at his throat.

 _"How long will they be there?_ " He snaps, the agitation you realise he was barely containing bursting back out, just as raw and cutting. You shoot a worried glance at Varric, but he's just watching Fenris like he's ready to tackle him if he has to. "The marks- I have to _know!_ "

"Marks-?" Isabela starts, and Fenris nods, boring a hole into the dirt with the intensity of his glare.

"Hawke told me there are marks on me, some magic the book, that seal, that it left on me." He curls his lip, nails digging in against his skin. "I can _feel_ it, I've felt it since that moment and I didn't know what the taint was until now, but I want it _gone,_ so _how long_ before I'm cleansed of it? How long do I have to suffer this?"

You search for an answer, something believable, and see Isabela's eyes flicker as she catches on and opens her lips to offer something-

"The book didn't leave a mark on you."

Fenris turns on Merrill, and she stares at him in genuine, earnest confusion, her conviction to truth tearing the lie to pieces before it could be told in earnest. "It didn't leave anything on you, other than ash. There were marks on you when we met you, those are still there, but the book didn't-"

 _"What marks?_ " He interrupts, gaze informing you of his feelings of betrayal. Merrill finds a patch of dirt and a small rock, humming as she traces the outline of him and then starts to fill in the lines, her hands curling and swaying through the motions as the familiar arc and flow shapes under her touch. Her fingers leave a frost on the rock, an ice that floods the lines and leaves them pale against the ground, a soft white glow against rich earth and red clay.

She has gained the attention of all of them, now, her motions as mesmerising as the images that led your hands across his body in the night, and for a moment, all is silent and awed, all caught in this spread of something powerful, carved across the ground.

"Stop." She doesn't, but you're drawn from your daze at the word, even as Anders repeats it sharply, loud, Justice's low tone booming under his own. " _Stop!_ "

Merrill jumps, dropping the rock. It skips a line over the image, slices across the drawn chest, and you glare at Anders as he quickly moves over and pushes her aside, as he digs his fingers into the mud left by the melting ice and pulls it all to pieces.

"What are you _doing?_ " Fenris shoves him away from it, and Anders shoves back, dragging his fingers through it one last time and reducing the image to fragments and memory.

"No one draw it. _No one._ That isn't- it's not to be done again!"

"Anders-"

"That's old, that's _old-_ It's a Ward. You have a ward on you, something used to protect against awful things, forgotten things, something the Archangels use on their armour and the Lord has written on his door. It's not to be drawn again, and not like that, not when it's _wrong-_ "

"If you know what this magic on me is, I _demand_ you _tell me!_ " Fenris grabs Anders collar, jerking him forward roughly enough it shakes him into silence, and Aveline's gun in on them both in a second, Isabela's knives in her hands, though Anders just stares at Fenris with wide eyes and splutters his way through an answer, more worry in his words than you think he's ever shown.

"It's a Ward, but it's on the wrong way, don't you _understand-?"_

"What is it protecting me from? _What is it doing on me?"_

The Angel laughs, and his voice is hollow.

"It's not protecting _you_ from anything. It's on backwards, Fenris, the wrong way, the lines are backwards and inside out and-" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, but it isn't a shield-"

Fenris' eyes are empty.

"-It's a _cage_."

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Is that... plot? How did _that_ get in here?


	6. Tales to Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are tales to tell, Conquest. Do not keep him waiting.

_He tore the locks and tore the chains_  
_and cast them all asunder,_  
_His eyes were bright, his heart it sang,_  
_His voice it was athunder,_  
_And though he left his wings behind_  
_and fell to Earthly shore,_  
_His Victory, it was complete;_  
_But now not he, no more._

When Fenris lets Anders go, his fingers are trembling, and Anders eases back to the ground as carefully as he can manage, movements cautious and slow. His eyes linger on Fenris, concerned and wary, and the false confidence he does his best to always hide behind is lacking, for once, lost beneath concern and something urgent that's tugging his lips down into a heavy frown.

The wind carries unheard whispers between them, until Anders looks to the mud, already drying in the heat, and swallows thick enough you see the motion under his skin.

"Before everything got twisted," he starts, hurt beneath it all, "things like that were used to keep people safe."

Fenris snorts, sharp and derisive. Anders flinches, but continues, as steady as he can, "it used to be the work of the Angels to protect those who needed it most. The weak, the shunned... Those the demons came for in the night, if other humans didn't get to them first. It was our work, and it was... We were proud of it. Proud of what we could do, the difference we made.'

'But Angels can't exist, without a... host. And once, people knew that, people realised we were there to help them, saw when we were united with someone and let us pass. Then-" He stops, fingers curling into fists than tremble at his side, and draws an unsteady breath. "Then they forgot. They called us witches, and- and those who sheltered us... They hanged, and drowned, and burned. Most of us saw it as- as proof humanity had lost its faith, using our own names in vain as they tore those we were meant to protect apart. Most of us left, and... and never cared for your kind again."

"So why are you still here?" Fenris doesn't ask it with bite. You wonder if that's been drained from him, like the life that's lacking from his voice.

"Because I- I had something worth fighting for. I remembered what Wards like that meant, and that there were people who still needed them- needed us."

"Impressive words for a coward who's never done anything but talk." Sebastian cuts across the moment, and Anders looks away, closing his eyes. "I've done more than you, for all of them; kept fear of God in their hearts after your kind left them to forget Him."

"Crushing people under the weight of their terror is just another way to keep them in chains! You say you're helping, you and your kind, you and the people with the flaming torches and the hangman's noose, the guns and badges, the laws _they_ wrote- But all you're doing is trapping people again, is drowning them slowly under a pressure they can't escape, stifling all their spirit from them until they're dead without dying and can't do anything to fight you!" Anders draws himself up and spits at Sebastian, cheeks cracking at the edges and framing his face with blue. "You're _why_ I need to be here! You and people like you, monsters who no Ward can guard against."

"I am _necessary,_ " Sebastian retorts.

"Men like you will _never_ be necessary," Anders snaps, "but you will always _think_ you are."

"So you're human?" Fenris asks softly, like the brief argument never happened. His voice is so hollow, it pulls at your chest, makes your want to move and wrap him in your arms- but no sooner has the thought crossed your mind than Varric raises his hand in a small motion to still you, and despite the way it aches, you settle and leave them be, for now.

Anders stares at Fenris, brows furrowed, then blinks slowly and nods. "...Yes. It's... hard to remember, sometimes. Everything gets muddled, with Justice. But Anders is a human, and Justice is not. I'm not sure what we make together." He hesitates. "Anders offered this body as a vessel. Angels can't take an unwilling host, it's against their nature and it's how- it's one of the ways they Fall. To force themselves- That isn't our way."

"Could an Angel exist without a host?"

"Only for a moment, one burning moment- and then they would tear themself apart." Anders seems to realise, watching Fenris' gaze drop to his own hands, and he takes them, fingers curling to support them. Fenris tenses sharply, and your shoulders jolt up, something foul rearing in your chest at the sight of someone else touching him, someone making him _uneasy-_ You don't realise you're moving until Varric's hand fists into your shirt and pushes you back down, roughly enough it snaps you out of the red haze you'd slipped into, breaks you back to reality but leaves that vicious thing lashing painfully inside you.

"This Ward is strong enough to hold... anything, really, but Wards like this only work when they're placed on a vessel. They reinforce a prison, they don't create one." Anders closes his eyes, and a flurry of blue crackles up his arm, meeting Fenris' skin and coming together into ribbons that twist over his skin, following the lines he can't see and showing him the paths they trace across his skin. The reflection glows in Fenris' eyes as he watches them, the light creeping higher until he snaps and jerks back, hands trembling as the image fades away.

"That- _That's_ what's on me?" He rubs at his sleeves, nails scratching against the leather.

"That's some of it." Fading wisps of blue drift around Anders fingers, and he shakes them away, shrugging. "I can't tell you what it's doing, what it holds. I- _Justice-_ has seen these lines before, he thinks. Like this-"

He touches the air, and blue spreads, bleeds like ink on water, billowing out into an image of the lines that mark Fenris' body. Some are missing, absent, enough to allow him to show them without his prior panic, apparently- but you know those shapes, that he carves through space. You know them, and they whisper of moonlight, and soft touches, and a man who will be free if you have to kick down the gates of Heaven to demand it.

"This is how you're marked," Anders explains, flinching when Fenris takes a sharp step away. "But- this isn't how it should be. It's like... doors, that are closed on you, when really, they should be open." The image splits along its central line, both halves sweeping outwards, settling once they've opened and framed Anders to either side. "This. When used right, it meant that nothing could get in, but you could defend yourself without disturbing the Ward." He raises his hands in the central split, then drops them again. "It was a common Ward, this way, because the split made it... useful, but weak. Human hands could bear to draw it, and it was used to defend against the common magic and horrors that stood to harm us and those we protected."

"If it's so weak then _get rid of it,_ " Fenris spits.

"I... can't. When the doors are open, there's a weakness in them, you can slip your fingers in and pull them apart. But when they're closed-" The lines reverse their path and slam together, fusing with a flare of white. "-this, this is- this is the mark of the Warden, and I don't even think _she_ could get rid of it so easily."

"I don't know _who -_ "

"The Warden." You repeat it, and hate the fact everyone is watching you, everyone but Anders, his gaze trained on the lines before him and his lips pale with worry. "She sealed the gates of Hell."

It's a truth, but it feels like a lie, a crucial omission changing the intent. You _feel_ Aveline's lips thin with disapproval, but before anyone can push you, Anders continues, saves you from their pressing stares.

"This is the mark on the gates of Hell, that bound them shut and trapped the Legion within. When the Horsemen last rode, and Heaven and Hell were at war, it was the Warden who slew the head of Hell's forces and bound them back behind the gates, bound them with a Ward that would take great sacrifice to ever open again." Anders sighs, hesitating and then letting the image blow away in the wind. "Both Heaven and Earth and the Horsemen themselves would have to willingly agree that Hell should be let free, and their Covenant would take her Ward apart and open up the gates. It's a mark never meant to be lifted, Fenris. It shouldn't... be used like this, and I- Whoever did this to you, they never meant for you to be cleansed of it."

"I'm marked like a caged demon," Fenris says slowly through grit teeth, and Anders swiftly raises his hands, shakes his head.

"No- That isn't what I-"

"Well you wanted proof that he wasn't like us," Sebastian slips back into the conversation, and his light tone disguises the gleeful cut of his words. "What would you have us do, Anders? Whatever's in there must be dangerous, it wouldn't do to keep it close, would it? We'd all be at risk. He's already led one of us to Death-"

 _"Don't._ " You won't have their squabble do this, you won't have anyone use Fenris as a pawn. Varric doesn't move quick enough and you shove his hand away, standing and staring Sebastian down. God- you were _friends_ once, you did so much for one another- but now you know he would seize everything from you, if the moment came. His obsessions started with a moment of revenge, but they spiralled out of control, became something that you can barely _stand-_

Fenris takes the moment and pulls away, nails catching the skin of his hands and leaving the sharp smell of blood in the air before he turns, away from Anders, away from Sebastian, away from _you._

Far too often, you chase him as he runs from them, and this time you don't give him the chance. You move forward, put a hand around his shoulders, and walk together into the sun as voices start to snap and cut behind you, and the fragile peace comes to an end.

"Sebastian was better than this," you mutter. "When I met him, he was powerless- he had such _noble_ intentions."

Fenris takes a breath, shuddering and wiping away the beads of blood welling across the back of his hand.

"You don't have to humour me." He glances at you as you find a path to follow into the grass, but meanders behind you despite it.

"I'm not." You wouldn't- _couldn't-_ "You have to trust me."

Fenris laughs.

"I do."

♁

He rolls his eyes at you when you lay your jacket out over the ground and beckon him to sit on it, ignoring his mutter about getting it dirty. The jacket you care about is the one still wrapped around his shoulders, not the second-hand leathers you're wearing for appearances, but you know explaining that would probably lead you down a road that's far too emotional for a piece of leather and some old red paint.

So you smile instead, and try not to be bothered by the distance when he sits as far away from you as possible within the tiny space, pale against the swaying grass that cools you in its shadow.

"He isn't what I thought he was," Fenris murmurs, running his thumb over the scratch on his hand. "I thought- Anders reminded me of other men I've met. Worse men. I'm not sure if I should be thankful for being wrong or worried I'm just... wrong for the moment."

"He could have been something terrible." You watched Anders' smiles fade and deep shadows under his eyes replace them, you saw his laughter slip into muted worry and strain. Sometimes you think about what he might've done, without people there to hold him back, without seeing those first signs of progress that gave him the strength to be patient. _The price of Justice is high,_ he once told you, words cracking as he pressed his face to your shoulder. _I can't stand by and watch much longer, Hawke. I can't._

"He still could be.” Fenris closes his fingers into fists and presses them into his lap. “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions- or are you going to tell me you’ve seen it, and I can’t say that anymore?”

“I’m going to tell you that it’s his choice to make, what he becomes. He knows where that road would lead, and even if the saying isn’t literal- I’ve always felt the noblest men are the ones who fall the hardest.”

_I’d do whatever it takes, Hawke._

You shake the memory away.

“Whatever he is, did he _need_ to hold my hands?” Fenris lifts them again, wringing his fingers beneath his disgusted gaze. “I don’t like people touching me.”

Oh. “You… don’t?”

“Do you really need to make those awful doe-eyes at me?” He glances your way, cheeks dark. “If _you_ were included in that, you would _know._ I’d think it was obvious you’re… an exception.”

“You’ve never said-”

“I didn’t realise I had to wear a sign around my neck informing the world that I dislike touching.” You know you’ve made a mistake, his voice snapped and sharp in a way that cuts, an urgency to his discomfort. “Perhaps I should cover it when I meet people? _Warning, I dislike small spaces, loud noises, and if you touch me without warning I might shoot you._ ”

“It wouldn’t hurt for us to know,” you try carefully, and Fenris looks at you wildly.

“ _It hurts for me to say._ ”

Shit-

Fenris shudders, shaking his head and tucking his hands under his arms, pressing them firm to his sides. You think he’s done, think his outburst is final, but just as you’re trying to come up with what you can possibly reply, words start falling like rain from his mouth, fast and unsteady.

“You hear a warning but I- I hear everything the warning _means,_ I feel every time I was locked in the dark or- or every time he grabbed me and held me and-” He laughs, but it’s distorted, too high, his eyes snapping from your face to a memory, and another, and another. “Do you know what it’s like, to forget yourself? To forget you _aren’t_ just- _his._ His to grab and push and _mark-_ He never asked, why would he? Why would you ask to touch _furniture._ ”

“Fenris…”

“It was _everything I had._ My whole _life._ I thought that was- what was _meant_ for me, that was my _place,_ and all that time I didn’t even know what was done to me, I might not even know _what I am-_ ” Like it can hear him, the Ward across him shimmers through his clothes, bright enough to dim the sun. “-I thought I understood how things were, how things had to be, how they would _always_ be, and the one time I doubted it, the one time I thought I could _leave,_ he found me and he- I did something _terrible,_ because he _said to,_ because he called me like a dog to his heel and I ran willing to his leash. Now I’m running- running and all this time, I was always _trapped,_ I was always marked for you all to see, marked like cattle and no better-”

He stops sharply, covering his mouth and staring at you with focused eyes that become clear with horror- shock- _disgust-_

“I’m sorry.” He mutters stiffly into his fingers. “I- am better than this. I don’t know why… I won’t let something like that happen again.”

“I don’t mind,” you answer, truthful but lame. Any dismissiveness in his shrug is lost by the way he stares at you, alert, bitter.

“None of it is your problem. None of it is weight you should bear.”

“It could be.”

Fenris turns away, palm pressed back across his lips, but it can only hold the laugh that rises out of him for a moment before it bursts out, grating and mirthless, dragged to a close with a wet splutter, a tear-drop period soaked into paper.

“ _Look at you._ ” He spits without passion, vicious only by the effort that he forces the words out with. “You’re not meant for men like _me._ I’m here for some _purpose,_ and when it’s done- When it’s done, you have forever to forget all about me.”

“Don’t do this,” you plead, but Fenris stays with face turned from you, with everything closed and barred to your mumbled prayer.

“I still don’t know if any of this is real. Maybe I’m mad, maybe he broke me and I’m mumbling in my chains while he laughs at me. That feels more likely than this, than _you._ You’re quick to fall for _humanity_ and I’m quick to fall for kindness- Once, I loved him, thought he was kind- Before I understood, I thought-” He scrubs the wet on his face away, scowls at it like its wronged him. “I thought _that_ world was perfect, so how can I trust this one?”

His damp hand slashes out, catching your cheek and dragging you close to him, his forehead pressed to yours and his glittering, wet eyelashes locked shut before your eyes. You touch his hand, grip it, and shuffle closer, holding your breath with each ragged burst of his.

“I’m not some _ideal_ , can’t you see that? I’m not some noble ghost- some perfect image of _humanity._ I’m not a slave, I’m not a spirit, I don’t care what he burned in my skin and I don’t care what lies I’ve been told, _I know what I am, Hawke._ ” He gasps, eyes opening and seizing you in endless green. “I am _Fenris._ I am the name he gave me to mock me, the one I stole and made my own. I am the one he beat and taunted, until I remembered I have _teeth_ and _claws._ I am the one who rides with legends who shouldn’t exist and owes them _nothing_.”

“I know,” you whisper, and he shakes his head. “I know,” you insist, and he presses his lips roughly to yours to silence it, leaves the taste of blood in your mouth when he pulls away.

“You don’t,” he tells you, coldly, “but you _will._ Carry me to the end of the world, and when it comes, I will find him and I will tear him _apart_. If I am anything, let me be the vengeance of those he ruined and stole from me twice over; let me be the despair in his eyes when he knows he has lost, and the last beat of his heart when I crush it in my fingers like the hollow shell it is.”

When you were young, you saw a frozen waterfall, trapped in the throes of a torrent, each ornate spray and surge beautiful and still. It stretched to the sky, and all of it was silver and blue and distorted images of the world that surrounded it, warping your face when you crept close and pressed your hand to what you thought were but gossamer ripples in reality.

 _Don’t get too close,_ a man you barely remember told you, setting his hands on your shoulders. _It’s beautiful, isn’t it? But it’s just waiting. One day the spring will come, and all that was frozen will be free; and the water is angry, beneath its prison. No matter how pretty the chains that hold it, the water was never meant to be anything but wild, and any who fall in love with the ice will find the water remembers how they smiled when it was imprisoned, how they loved it when it was caged and curbed._

_It doesn’t forgive, that water, and it never forgets._

_Fall in love with the torrent that flows this way in the spring. Fall in love with its passion as it rushes to the sea. Ghosts lead to an end, but the spring leads to a beginning. Men fall in love with what they see in the ice, but never what’s below it; do not follow them to folly. Listen to the rumble and the whisper of the water; it is telling you its truths, and even we should be afraid._

“Son of a bitch,” you whisper, and Fenris blinks at you, drawn back from his snarl and the hatred in his eyes. “I really thought he meant the falls, you know that? I’ve thought that for _centuries._ I can’t believe…”

You rub Fenris’ hand gently, warm the ice that’s starting to thaw, and promise a ghost long-passed that it's everything the spring will bring that you love, and the winter ice just the same.

“The Horsemen were slaves,” you say at last, once you find the words to voice your thoughts. He’s shared a lot with you, you know that, even if it’s in a way you aren’t entirely sure of. You need to offer some truths back in return. “They were bound by the chains of Heaven and Hell and forced to answer like beasts when the Seals called them.”

“Us?” He corrects slowly, and you smile at him.

“ _Them._ ” You sigh, bringing his hand down in front of you and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, down the lines that paint them, the ice you’ll melt to nothing if it’s the last thing you do. “The fighting between Heaven and Hell was awful, back then. Every little squabble turned into a crusade, and none of them cared enough about this place to be bothered when it was stuck in the middle. Anders is right, the Angels did their best, but they were in the minority and no one was worried about trampling over the humans they spoke out in defence of.”

“Something changed?” You’re glad he seems calmer. Changing subjects- Well, you’re never sure when it’s a good idea and when it’s outright awkward, so to have done it seemingly right for once is a blessing.

Your smile spreads. “Victory.”

“You’ve… mentioned him.” Fenris nods slowly. “ _Forever out of my reach,_ or something just as dramatic.”

“Victory was an Archangel. He flew by the side of Conquest, heralded her coming and sounded the last charge of the Horsemen, when they were called to trample down any battles that got out of hand. I’m not even sure how long he served, how he was chosen- but I know that one day, the Seals were broken on Earth, and the charge of the Horsemen left them scattered and exhausted here, unsure of what to do in a world that had no masters to command them.” The story passes easily from your tongue, it has a thousand times before, but just as ever it’s odd to think of it as _true._ That this came to pass, and the others, they watched it all unfold. “They found shelter. Some, in the courts of crusading kings, or selfish lords. Others, in the shadows, watching this world they had never seen but in passing. And one- Victory found himself in the house of a family whose blood was pure and wants were selfish, and he did not care for them.’

‘He came in the guise of a common man, and though they fed him, grudgingly, in trade for the golden medallion he carried, they wished him gone. He wished to be gone as well; Lord knew, he had better places to suffer than there.” Your words are softer, and you laugh, raising a hand to tap your chest. “But humans listen, more than spirits do. They see more than the Angels, and understand more than the Demons. When he left in the night, their girl followed him, stubborn and insistent that she would know what he was, and where he came from. She followed him, and he let her, and I suppose from that moment he was doomed.”

“They fell in love,” Fenris states blandly, rolling his eyes. You laugh and nudge him, but nod.

“They fell in love, and when he felt the pull of the Seals he’d never thought to deny- Victory did not answer.”

“He broke free?” Fenris narrows his eyes, tangling his fingers with yours entirely and holding your hand tight in his. “They allowed that?”

“Of course not. The wrath of Heaven and Hell turned on him, and he was all but doomed; But Fate, for reasons of her own, chose to smile on him. The Witch came before the Legion and the Lord, and she gave an impossible challenge. If the battle between Above and Below could be ended within the year, then Victory could give up his crown, and pass it to another, of her choosing.’

‘Victory could never hope to accomplish such a feat, and he knew she was simply prolonging his death sentence- but another, another did not care for things like _impossible._ Seeing him free, the happiness which he faced his final days with, and knowing her own bonds were a curse upon her, Conquest gathered the Horsemen and those others that would follow her, and she rode them into Hell, all of them, to beat back the Legion behind their burning gates and to seal the door to the Deep Roads with her blood, and her might, and her own, golden chains.”

“The Warden,” he murmurs. This one listens, you think proudly. This one _thinks._

“She fell weak after, in the arms of her love, and he carried her up from Hell with all the fury of the Angels. Though they bickered and fought and denied her sacrifice… In the end, the word of Fate is law, and the Witch had her way. Her gift was simple- Victory had his crown and title taken, and was left in human skin to pass the rest of his days, free and unlaboured.”

“But?” Fenris watches you closely. “There _is_ a but, is there not?”

“Of course there is. Fate stripped Conquest of her title, and bound her to Heaven for her insolence, their Warden to forever watch the gates she had sealed with her own hands. Fate took both burdens and stole them away, and gave the Warden nor the once-Angel a choice in who they would weigh down upon in their stead.’

‘But the Horsemen’s chains were broken, in the forge of Hell and the last gasps of the Warden. They were free, and Victory stood free most of all. He would fade now, like the woman who had chased him. Their twilight would come together, and they would be unbound.” You pause, pain tugging at your thoughts, and that smile finally drops away, to a frown that’s lost in years long gone from the world. “That was… the plan, anyway. Fate is not so kind, nor so simple in her designs. It didn’t… work out that way.”

Fenris breathes out slowly, and watches you intently, his fingers tighter- looser- tighter- in a constant beat you think might match the drum of your heart through your fingertips. His touch is comforting, more than it should be, maybe as comforting as the slender fingers of a girl who once ran across the world for love over riches and never regretted her choices.

“The crown is heavy,” he utters. You look at him, and _see_ him, see the new growth blooming through his eyes and the strength that swells beneath his skin with every passing day. “The crown is heavy, Conquest, but it isn’t _yours_.”

“No. It isn’t mine to bear with honour; it’s just mine to bear, to remember what isn’t mine to have. It… It belonged to a man named Malcolm,” you smile, even with the pain of your metal bind about your head, “and I am one of the prices he paid.”

Fenris looks away, but his hold on you is certain.

“...We all have our cages,” he murmurs, bitter.

“Don’t fear, love. We will break them.”

You believe it, like you never have before; believe in the freedom that lights his eyes and the promise that thrums in his chest. All chains can be broken.

“Together?” He asks, smiling wryly, and you can’t tell if his forced amusement masks doubt, disbelief, _despair-_

“Together,” you swear, earnest and strong; warm to split the ice that masks his face from the coming sun.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you've enjoyed the fic so far. This chapter made me quite nervous, and I had to really change around what I originally planned to avoid it being too much. I know exactly where all of this is leading, but sometimes deciding when and where to share information is a challenge; this chapter was probably my most difficult one to write.
> 
> Thank you so much, everyone who's taken the time to comment. I love talking to you all, and though I know everything that will happen, your theories have been fascinating. Some people have even got very close to hitting spot on! So thank you again for taking that time, and I hope if you've stuck with it this far, you'll be here for the rest of this adventure.


	7. Fears in Twilight (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you afraid of? What do you want most of all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first part of a two-part section. There are **POV changes through the next two chapter.** I hope they're clear enough, but be ready for them coming.

_I do not fear the Dead, my Lord,_  
_Nor do I fear their call,_  
_I do not fear the things I lost,_  
_Nor fear the coming fall,_  
_But oh, I fear myself, Lord,_  
_I fear what's in my heart,_  
_For sins can turn a good man cold,_  
_And tear the strong apart._

No one says anything when Fenris doesn't bother laying out a separate bed roll that night. You feel eyes on you both when he approaches you instead, but you don't care enough to look and match owners and expressions to the gazes. They can think what they will. Your choice is already made, that much should be clear.

Something still nags at you ( _too fast, too easy_ ) but you cast it aside. Your life is already an impossibility - why should you refuse one more ridiculous touch, especially when it has brought you something so sweet, so swiftly.

Fenris slips under your blankets the moment you lift them, pressing close to you and breathing out a sigh against your neck.

"One day we will have to actually... face this," he murmurs, hand settling against the scar on your chest. Your rest your palm to it, fingers finding their place between his own. "Whatever this is, that we've fallen into."

"I think people tend to call it love."

He stays silent, nails catching your chest as they close inwards, and you let the moment pass with a sigh. The stars are bright, the chirp and hum of the grass is a loud lullaby, and before you know it, you're drifting away, things sliding out of focus and time skipping, a few seconds, minutes, an hour-

His fingers draw you back, sweet and soft, to the edges of waking. They run light through your hair, slipping the loose strands backwards with each gentle drag of his nails across your scalp, easing your bangs away from your face. It's steady, methodical, each motion full of care, and it's so soothing you almost drop straight back into the darkness.

You fight, just for a moment, and as your eyelids flutter he presses his lips to your forehead, sighing.

"Go to sleep, _mi amor._ " Fenris murmurs, voice heavy with something older than the lines on his face. "I'm here."

You murmur, relaxing just for a moment, and before you feel time pass the light of the sun has turned your vision read, and you groan and shift before you dare to crack your eyes open to peer at the weight by your side.

Fenris looks back at you, stifling a yawn, and presses closer when you tug at him.

"You look surprised to see me," he mutters, fingers tracing aimless shapes around your navel. You laugh, make light of the honest flutter that's threatening to burst from your chest.

"Just... happy. I thought you might-" - _leave again._ His fingers freeze as your words hitch, and you quickly turn the topic around. "Well I hope you don't expect to move any time soon." You wrap you arm around him and tug him on top of you, ignoring his squawk of disapproval. "I like my lazy mornings, and they're better with company."

"Oh are they?" Fenris puffs air at you with far less irritation than he's trying to conjure up in his expression. "And what if I refuse?"

"I believe I have you in my grasp, Fenris. Do you think you can escape my might?"

" _Might._ Don't make me laugh."

"But I _like_ making you laugh." You nudge him, and to your delight he chuckles, ducking his head to hide it. "There! There it is. That's what I like to see."

His mature response is to press his hand to your face, covering your eyes with something that sounds a lot like a curse, and you grin up at his unseen face, wriggling and keeping your hands to his hips as you tilt your head back and try to catch your tongue to his hand instead. Fenris snorts and pulls it up, pushes it into your hair, leaning down and bumping your forehead with his when you try and work your hair free of his grasp.

You still, as he smiles at you, harsh at the edges but warm in his core. His smile slips, fingers tightening, tugging, and your hand is on his back before you think about it, pulling him down so your lips can meet-

“Anders is back!”

Fenris lifts his head, and you groan, flopping dramatically backwards. Isabela repeats the call, air blasting over you as Anders swoops past you and lands nearby, causing Fenris to stand before you can stop him.

“I didn’t know he’d left,” Fenris mutters, and you snort, patting around for your shirt and jacket and pulling them on as you clamber to your feet.

“Yes, well. You’re so fond of him, I’m surprised you weren’t paying him your undivided attention.”

“I was… distracted.” He glances at you, and you give him a smile that has his cheeks dark. “His absence served a purpose?”

“Why scout on foot when you can fly? Varric’s… unpredictable, with what he Sees, but when he focused on this area he was drawing consistent blanks. That’s not normal. We decided to see what was stopping his Sight, and that means scouting manually, which means spare the feet, do it on wing.” You gesture over at Anders as he shakes out his glittering shards, then folds them up and collapses them to nothing between his shoulder blades. “He does do more than preach, much as Sebastian would have you think otherwise.”

“I would rather him preach that have to listen to the things that fall from that- _creature’s_ mouth.” Fenris darkens in a different way, his arms folding tight across his chest. “Why do you _travel_ with him?”

“He’s one of the Four, even if we don’t like it.” You cough, muttering softer, “he didn’t ride with them, on the Warden’s charge, refused… Argued that the Lord would find a way on His own, and that humanity’s suffering was merely some way to weed out those who deserved saving. We’ve had many arguments about keeping him with us, but in the end, his Seal sits with ours. All must be broken and all must be called.”

“One of the first times I spoke of my travels, he tried to tell me my escape was God's doing, that I hadn’t actually- At the time I even _listened,_ I started wondering if it was all some plan and I hadn’t done anything but play along.” Fenris curls his lip, the marks below it wisping with light that’s gone as soon as you notice it. “Danarius used to encourage us to thank God for granting us a place in his house, where we were so cared for. I should have known when I heard it that they were cut from the same cloth.”

“Sebastian has a choice, like the rest of us.”

“I’ve seen the choices men like him make.”

“The Black Seal has to break,” you murmur. Fenris shoots you a look.

“I thought the Horsemen were free of the Seals, and what they meant.” He murmurs, slowly. “You told me that you did this often but then- you told me that the Seals were used to command you, that they were the chains bound to you to force you to act. Why are you calling yourself to battle, Hawke? Why are you pulling a leash so much was done to burn?”

You blink, white noise fuzzing up your ears and that pain behind your eyes flaring bitterly strong. Why are you doing this? Well, that’s because you have to, you- have to? Why do you have to?

Why can’t you-

“Hawke! Fenris!” Aveline calls your name and you fix on her, touching your temple to soothe away the dulling ache of a thought you can’t quite remember. “If you want to join us at some point…”

“Coming!” You hurry over, and though he lingers behind you for a moment, Fenris follows, brows low and eyes clouded with thought.

Aveline nods to Anders once the group is complete, and you can’t help but notice he’s still looking pale from the effort of flight, another irregularity that washes all traces of the last one away. Since Justice emerged, he hasn’t been himself, a veneer he built over years crumbling back around him to pointless dust. You’re used to him watching you, of course you are; he’s watched you since he met you, and gained more reason than you’d have wished on him since. But this- you think you haven’t stopped feeling his eyes since you opened yours from the coldest sleep, and each time you’ve caught them they’ve been pinched with worry. It’s unsettling. Anders is better at hiding things than this.

“There’s something nearby,” he explains, weariness edging the words. “It looked normal- an old school, maybe? An ornate house? But I _felt-_ ” He shudders. “The whole place reeks of magic, and the worst kind, too. There’s blood in the walls and brimstone in the ground, and I’m not even sure if anything I saw was _real_. Whatever it is, it’s recent, and I felt a holy shadow at the edges of it, just as much as I felt the foulness inside, which doesn’t make any _sense,_ but- I feel like it’s important, and even if it isn’t- _please_.” His eyes find yours, openly, and you can’t decide if you’re pleased or worried that the light of Justice is dim in them, something more human imploring to you in the Angel’s stead. “It’s my duty to ask you to get rid of it. There shouldn’t be any lingering touch of the Blight in this world, not like that.”

“It could explain why we haven’t felt anything,” Sebastian comments with a sweeping glance around those of you who understand. “This _is_ the place, isn’t it? I say we need to at least look.”

“Agreeing with Anders? I never thought I’d see the day.” Varric rolls his eyes, but nods, patiently. “I’ve never had something blot me out like this before. Can’t hurt to take a look, not any more than anything else hurts us, anyway.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You snort. “I’ve already died once this week.”

“ _Hawke-_ ” Anders starts, but stops himself, shaking his head. “It could be a trap, we need to think this through.”

“Half of us deal with what’s inside, half of us guard what’s out. Simple.” Aveline gestures quickly, picking you out as she talks. “Sebastian and Varric are better at range, and with Varric blind, there’s no point risking him in close quarters. Merrill is awoken and if anything, the trap could be set for her, with her… previous experiences with the Damned.” Merrill flinches, mumbling something about not _all_ Demons being so bad, scuffing her boot along the ground as Isabela gives Aveline a dirty glare. “Isabela, you can’t be risked around that influence, but you’ll be alert to changes in it. Leaving you outside provides a way the guards can know if something significant is happening inside. Hawke, Fenris,” her words finally snap Fenris to reality, and he looks up, nodding curtly. “You’re both good in close quarters, and while Fenris is at risk, if this _is_ something relevant, we may need him. Anders, you’re our best chance against the Infernal, it makes no sense not to take you. I’ll go with you, to give you what support I can in case a fight is waiting for us.”

“Who died and made _you_ queen?” Isabela mutters, but no one else has anything better to offer, and she knows that.

“To battle, then,” Aveline sighs, resting her fidgeting hand to the gun at her hip, “and God willing, this time we might all make it out alive.”

♁

There’s no sign the building is abandoned, from the outside. Lights glow in the windows, the whole thing is pristine, and you can even hear the distant chatter of voices.

But still, you _feel_ it. Feel that it’s all a hollow shell, and when you wait long enough- there, you nod sharply to Aveline as your hear it. The noises hitch, then repeat, a trapped loop that’s nothing but a mask. No shadows shift the light, no movements shiver through the curtains.

This place is not what it seems.

Anders slumps with relief when you all agree. He hastens off into the trees that edge the garden to try and find the Angelic presence he sensed, and the outer guard spread to check the perimeter, soft and swift. You laugh quietly when only you and Fenris remain with Aveline.

“So, it’s _definitely_ a trap.”

“Oh, of course.” Aveline sighs. “A _blatant_ one, at that.”

“You were quick to want to come here,” Fenris says, like it means something. Aveline frowns at him, her brow knitting, before she straightens and shakes the expression away.

“If there’s any chance this was a trap for _us,_ that means it likely holds something we need. Few people know we travel with an Angel; we’d have no reason to come here without bait.” Her fingers trip through her hair, undoing it and then twisting it back up into a tight bun with a fierce tug. “I don’t like this.”

“I’m not sure anyone likes traps, unless they’re the one who set them.” Well, that and madmen, of course. “Come on, Aveline. We’ve had much worse, recently in fact!”

Fenris breathes sharply, but before he forms words, Aveline has turned on you, pressing her finger accusingly to your chest.

“ _Stop making light of it._ You _died,_ Hawke. Do you really think that’s a _joke?_ If Merrill hadn’t been there-”

“But she _was,_ ” you answer flatly. “It’s done, Aveline. It doesn’t matter.”

“Your life isn’t a _joke._ Stop thinking it’s funny that you nearly threw it away!”

“What do you _want_ me to do? To cower in terror, to sob? What would that do?” You slap her hand away and turn to look for Anders, eager to get in and be done with this. “We’re always in danger, that’s how this _works,_ we aren’t exactly taking candy from a willing child. You of all people know what I’m carrying, you _know_ what it means and why-”

“ _Malcolm didn’t die for you to go chasing after him._ ”

Your gut drops, and you turn on her, anger sparking at the tips of your fingers. “He didn’t _want_ that crown on you, Hawke,” she continues, voice picking up pace. “He knew what it does to people, what it makes them suffer, it was _his_ burden and you _know_ how much he did to escape it; do you think this is what he meant for? If the bearer of the Crown dies-”

“-then Victory is lost,” you finish, tired of being reminded, tired of being put on a pedestal because of a deal you didn’t ask to be a part of. “I _know,_ Aveline. I know, and every single time you call me _Champion_ I can _hear_ the damned reminder.”

“Victory used to be able to fight for itself, for _himself,_ but now _you_ are the only thing protecting what’s left of it. Would it really hurt you to take that seriously for _one day?_ ”

“I’m so glad the Crown matters so much to you,” you reply dryly. “For a moment there I was worried you’d started caring about _me._ ”

“ _Hawke.”_

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m a pack mule for more important things, I got that. The errand runner of Fate, who you people who _matter_ all got laboured with.”

“You know that isn’t true!”

“It’s what it’s starting to _feel like._ ”

“You’re being such a _child!_ ”

“Yes! Because _I am a child!_ ” Why doesn’t she understand that? “I’m not as old as you, I’ve never known anything but this and I don’t even _know_ why we’re- why-” Static consumes the words and you gasp in frustration, shaking your head. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and I _never asked_ to be _in charge!_ I don’t want all of this to happen to me! I don’t ask to be there when everything goes to hell, or when someone needs something doing that _oh look,_ only _we_ can do! If I could choose, I wouldn’t do any of this.”

“...But you _can_ choose.” Fenris says quietly, and you both whirl around to stare at him, remembering he’s there like a punch to the gut. He looks between you, before dropping his gaze. “You’re the ones doing this. It’s- a choice. You all have a choice.”

“We do, but not-” Aveline hesitates. “I mean, we _must-_ ”

White noise in your head and something on the tip of your tongue-

“All clear.” Sebastian’s hand claps your shoulder and snaps you back to thinking, Isabela brushing past with a heavy sigh.

“For _now,_ ” she scoffs. “Who sets a trap and then stands around admiring it? Either you leave it be, or you hide. A trap’s no good if the target finds you squatting in a bush whispering about your dastardly scheme.”

“Exactly why we need a guard to watch our backs.” Aveline rubs her eyes, frowning, before she focuses on the task at hand. “Where is Anders?”

“I’m here.” He steps forward to stand beside Fenris, and you wonder how long he’s been there, how much of that he saw. He sighs and draws his fingers out of his pocket, looking to the house that looms above you. “We’d best get this over with.”

“Lead the way, _Champion,_ ” Aveline says coldly.

The word cuts deeper when it digs into raw wounds, and you don’t do her the honour of an answer, turning away. You scowl your way towards the door, and get ready for the inevitable moment it locks you inside.

♁

Absolutely none of you are surprised when the door slams shut behind you.

“Delightful.” You huff, peering down the lit hallway, looking about as threatening as a kitten. “I do love it when a trap is predictable.”

“Like you love it when men have dark pasts?” Anders hums, running his fingers over the floral paper on the walls. You give him a look, a _we said we were never going to mention that_ look, and he snorts, hiding a smile. “What? You’re the only one banned from jokes.”

“I didn’t ban Hawke from _jokes-_ I just-” Aveline spreads her hands. “Just, some things.”

“Some things, she says. She won’t tell me what, I’ll find out when she smacks me. It’s a fun surprise that way.” You laugh when Aveline rolls her eyes at you, wondering how you were both arguing only moments ago, when now everything feels so…

_So…_

You look at the door.

“Anders,” you say slowly, and he nods, tapping the wall sharply and sending the wards all across the wood and the flowers blazing into life.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?”

“ _You_ did this?” You ask him, and he shifts uneasily between his feet.

“I did… this bit. The Warding. The rest was already here, but- I just had to find out.” Concern fills his gaze as he looks from you to Aveline, then back to the door. “He said this would help. I didn’t think you were susceptible to things like that, but- Something is pushing you, isn’t it? I know, I know how bad it is, I can’t hear it but I can hear the Calling to Heaven and I know how much it hurts- I can’t get rid of it, I can only dim it for now, but at least we have proof now.”

“But it’s always been this way,” Aveline tells him, though she sounds as uncertain as you feel. “The call was always there.”

“Oh, I see.” Anders wets his lips, and gives a crooked smile. “Of course it has.” Even though it’s a statement, an acceptance, you feel the question in it, and though the answer seems obvious, it buzzes around your mind, bothering you with insistent echoes.

“Let’s move on,” you pointedly push the question and the conversation away, gesturing down the hall as the Wards fade. “There’s something waiting for us, I’m sure.”

Fenris steps forward from where he was watching you, eyes troubled, but his closeness is a comfort. He walks beside you as you advance, testing the doors on the way and finding each one locked in turn. Maybe that’s the trap? A house of locked doors and your own mind to drive you mad with growing irritation as you try them.

You’re about to declare it true when you find a handle that shifts beneath your fingers.

The door is the same as the others, but for a mark in the wood, small and subtle. A small feather, cut rough into the grain. It reminds you of something, distant in your mind, and you ponder it as you draw your knife and watch Aveline and Fenris both carefully draw and steady their guns in their hands.

“Anders,” you whisper, and he steps up beside you, a prepared ward glowing white hot in his palm. “After you.”

Anders nods, pushing open the door and raising his hand to cast the ward as the taste of hell bites at your throat.

For an instant, you see him, and a humble room around him-

-Then everything is white, and you see nothing else at all.

♁

Anders knows the smell of burning flesh.

It assaults him, just as foul as the last time he choked on it, and he staggers forward, the ward falling apart in his hands as smoke blinds him and makes it hard to force air into his lungs.

“Hawke!” He calls, the first thought in his mind. Nothing answers, and though he _knows_ this is false, it _must_ be, the silence crawls around his head and worms worried through his chest. _Hawke._ He can’t see _anyone,_ they’re all gone, _where are they-_ He can’t let them get too far, not now, not after everything he was told. If any of it is true-!

He rushes through the smoke, trying to force it away with sweeps of one hand as the other covers his mouth, eyes stinging as he moves towards fires in the dark that seem to flicker out as soon as he gets close to them. Each time he thinks he’s made it in time, he’s too late, too late, and when at last a fire burns on he can’t help but jolt forward, rushing towards the light and jerking to a halt as the smoke billows away and leaves him in a cramped cabin that fills him with dread, the hearth burning dimly and the glow of raging flames turning all the windows an accusing sunset-shade.

“No,” he says first, taking a step back and finding only a wall behind him. The huddle of fabric by the hearth moves, and blood and chains spill onto the floor, the flames flashing up to reflect in hanging hammers and knives and worse things he can’t even name. “ _No._ ”

“Anders?”

His name is a curse, spoken empty and soft. There’s no hate in it, no sadness, no fear, and he knows what that _means_ and it’s so much _worse._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it’s just words, useless words that can’t fix anything. He takes a step forward, and another, on legs that shake and quake with scars he’s never let heal. “Oh, _oh,_ I’m so _sorry._ ”

“I knew you’d come,” comes the sighed answer, as clear now as each time it echoes in his nightmares. “I told them. I told them everything, Anders. I couldn’t help it.”

“I know.” He kneels and gathers the fabric up, the fragile body beneath them curling towards his heat. “I’m here now, I’m here.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It did, but then it stopped.” A soft breath. “Everything stopped.”

His light is dim, his heart beating in his chest with a weakness it’s lacked for centuries, and he curls closer to the fire, not daring to move the fabric, not wanting to _see,_ not again. He can remember it all, too much, too _little,_ sunken cheekbones and unseeing eyes, bloody lips and burns, _burns,_ everywhere fire and charred skin.

“It’s over now,” he promises, screwing his eyes shut. It’s been over so long. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not over yet.”

The voice is wrong, then, and when his eyes open, the room is bright, the paper floral, a mansion he dimly thinks he was in before the smoke. There’s weight in his arms and everything screams no, please, _don’t look,_ but before he can stop them his eyes drop with leaden weight.

He screams.

It’s muffled, below the pounding in his ears, but this is wrong, this is _wrong,_ not now, not here- There’s no scars but there’s blood, so much _blood,_ and Hawke’s eyes are so dim. Anders cups Hawke’s face in his hands, too pale, too weak, and why didn’t he stop this, why can’t he remember, why didn’t he _do something?_

“Merrill is too far,” Justice says, from above him. He shakes his head and moans a refusal, keeping his forehead pressed down, no matter how cold the skin against it is becoming. “You were too late.”

“ _There has to be a way.”_ He won’t lose another, he _won’t,_ he still feels Karl’s blood on his hands and feels his ghost at his back. “Not Hawke, please, I’ll do anything-”

“Anything?” Justice asks, and Anders draws a ragged breath. Of course, _anything,_ he doesn’t need to think to make that choice, he’d drown this world in fire if it kept Hawke safe from harm.

He’d never let this happen to Hawke.

_Never, Anders! You’d never have let it happen!_

The agreement on his lips stills, and he blinks slowly, thicky, the room distorting before it’s pulled back to how it was, Hawke in his arms and Justice above him.

Justice-

- _no._

He stands, and as he stands, Hawke breaks apart into ash and cinders that char the floor around his feet. No. He would protect Hawke, do anything for Hawke, and the whispers in the back of his mind are turning to a roar. This wouldn’t happen, this _can’t be happening._

“You already let your beloved die once on this fool’s quest,” Justice- whatever is pretending to be Justice- croons at him, and Anders knows it’s true. It’s been heavy in his thoughts, tearing him apart, but _now-_

Now he knows what must be done.

“I could give you all the power you would need to stop this. Just a moment of your time…”

But Anders already knows what he must do, and this vision doesn’t realise that he needs nothing more to do it.

He raises his hand, holding it like he’s ready to shake, like the deal might be made. The Demon smiles with a face it doesn’t deserve to bear, and now Anders can _feel_ Justice within him, raging against his own image being used against them. Pale white fingers rise to reach for his, and the moment they do, Anders is ready.

He twists his hand to press his palm flat to the air.

“No,” he says last, and blue overcomes him as he tears the Demon asunder with his light.

The image doesn’t fade as he wanted it to, and he stares down at the blood on the floor, finally letting the hurt sob that’s been aching in his chest bubble out. No matter how false it was, the image is burning in his brain, and he can’t- He _can’t-_

“I’m fine, Anders,” Hawke promises from the air, the room shivering as the words break through. “I’m right here, I’m fine.”

“For now.” He splutters, scrubbing at his face. They’re all there, aren’t they? How much did they see? Did they see him buckling, how quick he might’ve given in to temptation?

“I’m not going _anywhere_ , Anders-”

"You don't _know_ that! You don't know you'll be safe!" Anders clutches at his head, tears flowing bitter between his grasping fingers. "You've always been the hero, always saved us, saved _me-_ Who will save _you_ , Hawke?"

The illusion doesn’t fade; it explodes into a thousand glittering pieces as Hawke tears it apart, magnificent and awful and everything Anders will never have. His hands are forced away, eyes that blaze with all the fury of the wronged and the righteous taking his breath away in their place.

 _"You will._ "

The words are a revelation, and if his path had felt unsteady, now it is strong beneath his feet as he finds all the courage he needed to stand. He _will._ He’ll do this, do what must be done, and what the Demon forced on him will never come to pass.

Hawke lets go, and Anders falls back on his heels, finding the corpse of the Demon he slew twisted horribly on the floor now no enchantment hides it. He forces his gaze away, quickly, but can’t find anything better to look at, between Hawke’s concern, Aveline’s disgust, Fenris’ growing realisation. He knows any minute it’ll turn to hate, so he gestures instead to the next door once his eyes find it, a sigil he knows smeared in red across it.

“You don’t have to-” He starts, but Hawke is already pushing it open.

“My turn,” Anders hears, and then again, the world is gone.

♁

You know it’s a trick, obviously, as you creep forward into the floral room. Watching Anders struggle inside his mind as you were held back by unseen force was a torture all its own, and the moment the Demon spoke- thank God they have to speak their deals aloud- a shout was on your lips, fighting through the barriers to pierce the veil around his mind.

You know the display will have raised questions, or at least solidified suspicions Fenris might already have held. You’ll explain all you can, if he asks, of the things that happened long before he knew your name. They might be ended, but they will always linger, until the day you can convince Anders to stop waiting for something that you can’t give him.

And you _can’t._ You couldn’t from the start.

You rest a hand to the wood-panels on the walls and listen, holding your breath, the plain red paper in the room making you feel on edge for a reason you can no longer place.

Fenris, you can give yourself to in a way you’ve been unsure of with everyone else. Ever the flirt, never the lover, as Varric has often muttered at you when you sat at the bar of the day and watched someone who might’ve come with you just walk away at your own behest. They never felt right, not even the Angel who tried so hard to be what you needed, and you’re realising more and more with every day that whatever game the Witch is playing with your life, this moment and this runaway were a part of it from the beginning.

Why was it you, who had to do this?

“It _wasn’t._ ”

Your head swims and you turn as lightning flashes outside the large windows that break the dark wooden walls of your family home. There’s something- you shouldn’t _be_ here-

“She didn’t have to lose all of us. You were always the favourite, you could’ve _stayed._ ”

Carver stalks past you again, still pacing the room in a quiet fury, and what you were thinking is gone under the sharp sting of his insinuation.

“You didn’t have to leave either,” you remind him, straightening from the wall and putting your hands on your hips. “Kind of you to still hate me for robbing you of your chance at eternal suffering.”

“In case it was lost on you, you didn’t rob me of _that._ ” Carver’s eyes flare with red that cracks the skin around them, but it vanishes with a blink, though you know its cause is still buried inside him. That wasn’t what you meant- he _knows_ you had to-

“You were going to die!”

“Maybe I _wanted to!_ ” His armor creaks and light runs fierce beneath it, but he calms himself, scowling and turning his face away. “It wasn’t up to you to decide my fate, it wasn’t up to anyone. You got to decide yours! Even Bethany-”

“ _Don’t,_ ” you warn him sharply, and he snorts.

“She chose her path. She knew what might happen. I thought after losing her, after father- Maybe then mother would need both of us. But she didn’t, did she? Only _you._ ”

“I didn’t ask for that, for this.”

“Oh _please._ Yes you _did._ You were always the one who did everything right, always eyeing up father’s crown and going on and _on_ about the day _you_ got to hold it. I did _everything_ to please him, to please mother, but they never cared because why would they when _you_ were there, being the perfect little hero they both wanted?” Carver’s words bite, are heavy in your head as the ever-present weight around it starts to grown, making it hard to keep your gaze up and on him. “You practically leapt at that Witch when she came! You knew it would kill mother to lose you, but you still went! I would have gone! I would have done it!”

“Just because _you_ wanted to be the _hero!_ ”

“And you wanted something so much more _noble?_ ” He laughs, shaking his head. “I _know_ what _scum_ I am, you made that clear enough, and like I needed reminding I had to suffer being disgraced by being kicked out of the Heavenly ranks _you_ pushed me into because after all that I still defended you! But _you._ ” Carver steps forward and lightning throws the room into sharp relief, making him a silhouette with ragged wings that show only in shadow. “You pretend you’re such a good person, pretend you’re so _kind._ How many people have you killed? How much blood is on your hands? How many lives have you destroyed just passing through them and not caring what you left behind?”

You stumble back, grabbing at your head but unable to touch the crown there, even as your neck stings with pressure and your vision blurs. It’s too much, more than it should be, and as you slide down the wall, Carver advances.

“You _know_ it’s killing you, don’t you?” He speaks softly, now, and as he reaches out his fingers hitch as the metal tightens around your head and you feel the warm rush of blood well up around it. “You know what you had to do but you won’t do it, and it’s going to destroy you.”

“The crown is too heavy, the burden- I won’t force this on _anyone,_ even if it kills me!” You try to pull away from him, but the pressure is too much, sending you slamming into the ground. With a rough gasp, you push, pry, try to get the damn thing off before it crushes your head. “I knew what would happen and _that was my choice to accept._ But there was never a choice after! The crown is a burden but the weight of knowing I’d forced it on someone else-”

“I wanted to bear it for you!” He pulls you up, and everything flashes and tumbles in front of your eyes. “I still would! You don’t have to always be the one to do everything, you can _rest._ Is that so hard to believe?”

“I promised her I’d keep you safe,” you answer with what breath you can draw. “I promised her I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Mother is gone, and you know that. _Please.”_ He stares imploringly, desperate. “Let me help you.”

It’s been so long, you can’t remember what it felt like without the reminder on your head, wearing you down towards the day you won’t be able to hold it at all. You’ll be broken by it, this thing you could have shared, because you know the cost that would come with parting with it.

But-

But just for a _moment-_

“I…” You start, wondering if he would be different, with the same blood, with the fate you could’ve given to him in your place. “Maybe-”

“ _Don’t you dare._ ”

Your mother’s voice has been silent on this Earth far longer than Carver’s, but it rings clear as the day she first scolded you, not frail as the moment she smiled with pale lips and slipped away in your arms. You _know_ she is gone, Carver spoke of it, and the image of her last breath is one you will never forget, no matter how strong the magic that tries to contain it.

“ _Hawke._ ” She never called you that, never, but it has Carver back on his feet, anger on his face, and her standing before you with youth and colour in her cheeks that you thought you’d never see again. Leandra Hawke looks as beautiful as she always was, even when age turned her hair silver and drew lines across her face.

“Mother-” You whisper, as Carver snarls a sound that doesn’t fit his face.

“ _Get up._ If you choose to bear a burden then do it _properly._ ” Your mother’s words beat back against the power holding your down, each golden note making it easier to pull yourself up, to catch your breath. “This family is _gone,_ Hawke, and you _know_ that. Carver left you, he would not come back.”

“That isn’t true!” Carver interjects, but you stare at him with clearing eyes, brows rising.

“Yes it-” He lunged at you last time, knocked you to the floor and beat your face bloody in his rage as the spirit inside him tore him apart. “It _is._ You said if you saw me again you’d kill me.” There was so much fighting, he was so angry, he’d lost the last purpose his life had and he blamed it on _you._ “You told me you hoped this Crown killed me!” He did, _he did,_ words bitter and honest in their intent. “Why would you offer to take it?”

“That isn’t Carver,” your mother tells you, firm and harsh. “That’s a demon, Hawke. Remember?”

_You remember._

“No-” He starts, looking at you, but you’re backing away and dragging your knife from your pocket. “ _No-_ ”

This time he roars it, and you have to turn from the heat of his breath as it swamps you with torrid power. By the time you look back, the image of Carver is falling apart, and what remains in his place is huge, hulking, black claws cracking like magma as they plunge into the floor and splinter the boards. For one wonderful instant, you can still see your mother- and then that image falls apart just the same, and Aveline stands in her place, sword at the ready.

“ _You could have been free!_ ” The Demon spits, and you ready yourself, Anders flanking you on one side as Fenris raises his shotgun on the other.

“I’m already free,” you tell the beast, and when it turns on you, you’re ready. Aveline distracts it with a crashing blow to its chest, and as it chases after her, you summon old magic from your blood and have fire erupting from the ceiling to rain down on it, Anders ice catching at its bulky feet to stop it moving out of the way. It’s distracted, struggling, and Aveline raises her arm, the fire chasing after it to form a shield above her head as she runs up its back and drives her sword down, through its chest.

The Demon screams in rage and throws her off, staggering and clawing to force out the blade. Anders turns his attention to raising her, and you run forward the moment it moves to strike him, slashing your arm in a wide arc and trapping it with spikes of ice that drive up through its stomach and wash with black and red.

“You are doomed,” it growls at you, as you pant. When did doing this get so hard? You had so much power once, and now- the weight on your head makes you sway, and you realise this time it’s not the creature’s work. “Your twilight is coming. She will have her oath fulfilled or she will destroy you!”

“Let her come,” you answer bitterly, raising yourself proud despite the agony that bolts down your spine.

“You will die! _All of you!_ You know not what is at hand, and you will _all-_ ”

The words are ended rather abruptly when the Demon’s head explodes, and you wipe away the blood that splattered you, turning to find Fenris’ gun still smoking and his face hard and blank.

“My. Bullets do work on them.” He raises the gun and snaps out the spent shell, letting it clatter over the floor. “Who would’ve known.”

“Fenris.” All you can do is smile at him, so relieved to see him, so happy that he’s here. It’s ridiculous, you only just left him, and yet- it feels like longer, and the words still clawing at you, the truth behind the Demon’s threats, they’re bitter tasting on your tongue. “Are you alright?”

“I know when to stay back.” He answers flatly, looking you over. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, and his eyebrow twitches, just enough to tell you the falsehood was noted. “Nothing new, anyway.”

 _That’s_ true, at least. Fenris frowns, his eyes flicking to your forehead, and you turn away before he has time to ask, time to push you while you’re weak. Great, between this, and Anders- You’re _not_ looking forward to the talk you’ll have when you leave this place.

“A wolf,” Aveline calls, thank her _soul_ for interrupting again. “What do you think it means?”

You join her and look at the marking, distracting yourself from the room by practically shoving your face into the door. You know what it means already, even if you _hate_ it, but you won’t pass up on the opportunity to calm your thundering heart, or to ease the pain that’s aching on your brow. This- You don’t want to do this anymore. This place was meant for you, you and those with you, but it _can’t_ be for him. He shouldn’t have to suffer for you, not like this, there must be a mistake and you scour the wood to find it-

“Step aside,” Fenris mutters, and you stand quick enough, but bar his way with your body instead. “It isn’t subtle, Hawke. Let me face it.”

“You don’t have to,” you insist, pleading. “There’s another way out, there’s…” There’s so much you know he’s suffered that you don’t want to flash before him, to force him through again.

“I won’t be tricked by a Demon.” He snaps, and that’s not the problem, that isn’t what you’re afraid of!

“I won’t let them hurt you! I won’t let you put yourself through this!”

“I wasn’t aware that my choices were _yours_ to make.”

“Fenris-”

“My entire life has been someone else’s doing, Hawke,” he answers, and beneath the anger is nothing but weariness, a pleading heart that weakens your resolve. “If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to be the one deciding my own path from now on.”

You want to be strong enough to stop him, to hold him back and keep him away from harm, but all you can do is falter and nod, bowing your head when you step aside.

“Your choices are always your own,” you promise him.

“I will hold you to that.”

He walks past you, and you hear the handle turn, never able to look back at him. You feel him step away from you, and all warmth follows after, the room around you spinning apart into fading threads of day and night.

♁

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will follow, but I'd love to know what you think so far.
> 
> ALSO PLEASE! PLEASE! [GO LOOK AT DACA'S AMAZING COMIC!](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/127433296568) It's a scene from Chapter 5 and it is _stunning._
> 
> And go check out [this great fanmix by noxalnoesis](http://noxalnoesis.tumblr.com/post/126902383415/the-crown-is-heavy-a-playlist-by-perichareia-on)! It's made me really want to do my own fic mix, so if you'd be interested in that, maybe let me know.


	8. Fears in Twilight (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what of when it breaks, Champion? What will you do then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reasons that will become obvious later: No. It's not a ship in this fic.

_A Witch waited in the wilds, she rolled a die of bone,_  
_It span upon its edge as heroes tore her from her throne,_  
_But oh she did not go so soft, and rose from ash and flame,_  
_Reborn, at last she tipped the die, and so began the Game._

Fenris wakes with his cheek pressed to a dusty floor, unfocused eyes searching the worn stone and trying to make sense of the patterns in it. He remembers- _something,_ about this place, something important-

But he remembers many things, as he pushes himself up and stares down at the manackles that clank around his wrists, the chains that hold him to the wall thick and unyielding. He remembers faces, the wind in his hair, _impossible_ things. He remembers someone telling him they loved him. A dry chuckle leaves him, raspy and soft. Impossible things indeed.

His cell is familiar, real in a way the fragments in his mind can't possibly be. Light streams down from a window too high to reach, the walls bear the scars of attempts to break them down made by slaves who didn't know their place, and there's the door, right there, always unlocked but kept out of reach by the chains and by the fear of what would happen if the chance was taken.

At least the manacles rub less than he expects. Maybe they've finally been adjusted to fit his wrists?

The door to the cell creaks open and something in him is sickened by the fact he doesn't have to think to end up on his knees with his head bowed. He isn't sure why, can't place it; this is how things _are,_ how they've always been. Why does anything tell him different?

"Awake at last," his master's voice says softly, and it tears him in two, sweet and welcome, bitter and hated. He swallows down nausea, keeping his face impassive as something stings on the tip of his tongue, reminding him of- _something-_ "I worried I had lost you, pet."

He doesn't speak, though something- itches for it, inside him, wants him to scream to feel these chains and feel the presence that casts a shadow across him. Fingers brush gently across his cheek, and he remembers different ones, almost remembers a face, but it’s lost when his head is pulled upwards and presented with the figure he will never escape.

"Most would have put you down, but I know you're too precious to be lost." Danarius smiles, that calm smile that contains so much under its surface, so much pride and certainty and terrible want. "It pleases me to see you aware again."

"Thank you, Master," Fenris answers, gaze unfocusing so he doesn't have to fix on the features that are whipping up a storm he knows he can't feel, thoughts of rebellion worked up in a dream that would see him dead if they escaped. He must have been ill, to dream of it. Usually his mind knows better.

"I made sure you were cared for, as always," Danarius continues, gently tilting Fenris' head each way in turn, looking his face over appraisingly. "I knew you would be grateful, even if you spoke such awful things in your sleep."

Fenris blinks, his calm demeanour faltering. He can't ask, that's overstepping a line that's reasserting itself in his mind with horrid speed. All these chains he felt like he was free of, somehow, more than just the binds on his wrists, they're tightening around him again and stripping any parts of him that thought his dreams of freedom might be true. Here, on the floor, with that voice at his ear and those eyes gazing down at him, it's easy to remember his place, where he belongs, where he will always belong.

"You spoke of open roads, and others with you. Do you crave more than this, my little wolf? After all I have done for you?" He sounds so sad, so hurt, and Fenris knows where his upset leads, shakes his head and leans it into Danarius' hand even when bile stings in his throat. His sadness leads to anger and that anger leads to awful things, things Fenris doesn't want to suffer again, no more room for scars on his skin and no more strength left to be broken inside him. "Perhaps I will forgive you, if you give me reason to. Dreams do take us such strange places, don't they? As long as you recall where you belong, I can be... lenient."

He drops without a thought, pressing his face and hands to the ground. Words aren't allowed unless demanded, not beyond simple thanks or agreements. This- This is all he can do, and the fading murmurs of something _else,_ well, years of being shaped and hollowed out are pushing them aside, making it easy to forget dreams of what might've been in another life. These bonds mean something that's carved into his soul, was left there by tender word and burning brand in equal part, and all the voices that try to call him out of it, they're deafened by the booming power of his own mind, tearing itself down and reducing itself to rubble.

"Such strange things you muttered," Danarius snaps a finger, and Fenris stands like his puppet-strings were jerked taught, raising his head to stare blankly ahead. "What an imagination you have, hidden inside there." He frowns, curling his fingers under Fenris' chin and running his thumb straight down it. "We'll have to do something about that."

The motion is familiar, too familiar. It sparks and splutters against the cold of his empty mind, and there's leather in front of him, amber eyes and a smile-

Fenris swallows hard as his heart picks up speed, gaze darting as the image snaps back to the reality before him. Danarius is watching, suspicious, and Fenris remembers- a dream, just a dream- that smile was never real, it can't have been.

"Something troubles you?"

"No, Master."

Instantly, Danarius brings his hand back and up, fast, lights flashing in front of Fenris' vision as the blow hits. He staggers back, righting himself quickly and swallowing the blood he can taste in his mouth from his teeth slicing into his cheek.

"Don't lie to me," Danarius orders, his calm worse than any fury. It's deathly cold- cold in his bones- _deep down the ache and her eyes were ancient-_

"Something's wrong," Fenris manages, blinking rapidly and trying to cling to the fragments before they slip away again. No, _no,_ this isn't right-

_You never have to go back there._

"I-"

_Do you think he'll remember?_

"Speak, before I have to make you." Danarius steps forward and Fenris shifts his arms, a warning, a barrier between them. "Perhaps there _is_ more to this than a dream, hm? Perhaps you need reminded of your place!"

"My place is-"

_Pressed against leather with the wind in my hair._

_Seeing the stars, all of the stars, all of the universe before me._

_You can't take that from me._

"No one is going to save you, Fenris," Danarius snaps, but when Fenris moves his hands there's no sound of chains, no weight pulling him back. "Not _you,_ not God, not _Hawke-_ "

" _Don't say that name!"_

The face in his memory solidifies, the words growing loud and strong, and before he knows what he's doing his free arms are up, shoving Danarius away. His Master- _no, no, not anymore-_ stumbles back, face twisting in rage, but all Fenris sees is how deep the lines in his face become, how small and frail he looks, how there's nothing to be afraid of in this shell of a man when Fenris stands proud and strong and even the chant of _no, no, bow, sorry, I know my place-_ he roars until it's silent, forces it away.

" _Insolent dog!_ " Danarius pulls himself up, but he's still hunched, still faltering, years pouring into him that Fenris never let himself see when he held the man up so high. "You think a dream is going to help you? That a dream would _care_ for you like _I_ do? This Hawke would _never_ love something as _worthless_ as _you-_ "

The room lights blue like a lightning strike has found his furious thoughts as they break into pure bloodlust, and Fenris isn't aware of moving, isn't aware of _anything,_ until Danarius chokes and something flutters in his fingers, quick like a hummingbird caught in a cage.

“ _Finally,_ ” Danarius whispers, voice strained and tense. “All these years and at _last-_ ”

Fenris looks down to the glow, to his own arms lit with veins of crystalline white and edged with the light of the morning sky. It all fades to a pure white wash until it ends abruptly where his wrist plunges into Danarius’ chest, the realisation of what he can feel in his hand making Fenris dizzy with horror and _power_.

He would just have to close his fingers-

“Do it,” Danarius urges, voice soft and slick like oil as it runs beneath Fenris’ skin. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? To kill me? _Do it,_ then. See how you feel once you’ve had your vengeance. When you’ve let rage consume you.”

It would be- so _easy_ \- and after _everything-_

_This is what he deserves._

Fenris doesn’t see the lights as they flash warningly, doesn’t hear anything but his heartbeat washing the world away, as Danarius smiles at him- _still smiling at you, mocking you, do it, do it-_ and he starts to bring his fingers together, to draw his hand back-

-and red catches his eye, freezing him in place.

There’s red on his wrist, tied in a snug band, soft and soothing and a mark for him and him alone. A promise, an anchor, a reminder; Hawke isn’t here, but he’s not alone.

_Hawke._

Something drops inside him.

_Hawke wouldn’t want this._

Fenris lets go.

“No,” Danarius mutters, “ _no,_ ” but it isn’t him, this isn’t real. “You could’ve been _everything,_ you could’ve been _unstoppable!_ ”

“I could have been a monster,” Fenris replies, certain and harsh. “I am not his, Demon. Not even in my nightmares.”

Danarius’ face cracks, steams with foul vapours as scaled skin shows beneath, and the Demon starts to change, starts to show itself-

-but Fenris slams his hand forward again, finding a thicker lump of muscle that pulses erratically, and tears it back without fury, without surrender, but with faith that he is doing what he _must._

The Demon falls as he’s sprayed with blood, crumpling into a pile of twisted limbs and torn flesh that oozes ichor across the floor. It’s wooden again, now, the illusion gone completely, and Fenris watches with numb fascination as the heart in his hand beats once- twice- dripping foul blood across his fingers until he drops it and looks over the shimmering white lines on his skin instead.

“So this is my cage.” What a beautiful prison he was made, so well hidden, laid so deep. If they thought this would stop him breaking it, they are _wrong._ He has broken the chains on his mind and he will break the binds on his skin, no matter what it takes.

As for the rest- perhaps his reeling mind is yet to understand what transpired, what he wrought with his own hands. Perhaps he has just seen so much since this started that even that cannot faze him, not now.

He turns and looks at where he’s being watched, the barrier that held his companions back slowly falling apart as he smiles and gestures vaguely to the heartless- _hah-_ beast, dead at his feet.

“We should move on,” Fenris says lightly, ready to forget what haunted him, to focus on things that matter more than the ghosts of his past. “The sooner we are gone from here, the sooner I can see if Danarius really is so quick to fall.”

“You didn’t… say much,” Aveline questions, finally, even as she moves carefully to the next door, carved deep with a simple cross that’s long like a sword. “How did you escape it? Why did you stop? How did you remember it was false?”

He thinks of the blood around his wrist, and keeps his gaze on her, even when he feels Hawke’s eyes on him, boring a hole into his soul.

“...A little bird told me,” Fenris tells her with a wry smile, and Aveline lingers in the doorway, before she slips through, and all is gone.

♁

The first thing Aveline knows is music, familiar and soft in the air, a happy tune run through with a woman singing husky things of dark clouds in blue skies. She knows this song; it saw her through long, lonely nights, and when she caught it on the radio as she cleaned medals and washed uniforms, she would sing it to herself, too quiet to be heard, a promise her lips carried earnest and longing.

_We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when-_

“But I know we’ll meet again,” she finishes, tension slipping from her as her fingers curl into the crisp, pressed fabric of her skirt. “One sunny day…”

The lights go up, and though her voice fades, the woman on stage sings on, the faceless men and woman about her chattering softly and pairing to dance as Aveline lingers, wonders- tries to think of where she is, what’s happening, and can find only the song in her ears, soothing her worries away.

“There you are,” he says from beside her, and the world seizes up, growing brighter and more colourful as his voice rushes back into it after so long in silence. “You said you’d wait for me.”

“...I did,” she murmurs, and looks at Donnic as he laughs and awkwardly turns his face, setting the drinks he must have bought for them both off on top of a nearby table.

“At the _bar,_ ” he adds, a warm glow to his cheeks. “No need to get so sentimental on me, Captain.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“Well _I_ told you to wait for me.” He puts an arm around her shoulders, starched uniform catching her neck in a way that’s comforting. “I guess that makes us even.”

“I guess it does.” She smiles at him, and her eyes are stinging, something painful catching in her throat. “...You’re a good man, Donnic,” Aveline tells him, blinking out tears that he gently brushes away with concern in his eyes. “I missed you.”

“It’s only been five minutes,” he reminds her, and she laughs, ruddy red over her face. “Always so romantic, Aveline.”

“You didn’t think that when I gave you the flowers-”

“You didn’t give me flowers. You gave me- _well_. That plate looks lovely on my desk and it’s definitely a conversation starter, I’ll give you that.” He pulls her close, kissing her temple, and she thinks something is wrong but he’s here, with her, and nothing has ever been more right. “At least you had friends to force your hand, hm?”

“I…” Her friends, why does that catch in her mind? She shakes it away. It’s been a long time since she saw them. “I suppose I’m thankful for that, if nothing else. Hawke’s been a lot of trouble, but… sometimes, good comes of it.”

“I can’t dislike anyone who gave me such a wonderful woman for a wife.” Donnic’s smile is handsome enough the rest of the room falls to unimportance, but for the melody that’s still curled around her like a blanket. “And speaking of that woman, may I ask her for this dance?”

“You may, Major.”

“Oh, back to titles? How formal.” He laughs and takes her offered hand, kissing her knuckles before he guides her out onto the floor, weaving between the bodies already there, just ghosts compared to his vibrant presence. It’s easy to fit against him, even if she’s always been taller, broader, something she’s heard more than enough comments on to last all of her lifetimes. It feels like coming home when he holds her, leading her through steps that she’s followed countless times, first giggling and blushing and now smiling and easy in her trust for her husband.

She loves him.

She loves him so _much._

Her eyes are stinging again.

“Come now, love. Don’t cry.” Donnic squeezes her hand, the music rising gently, swelling to something passionate and deep. “It’s alright, now. It’s over.”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispers, her tears fresh and hot on her cheeks. Vera sings on and she remembers, remembers saying those words in a crowded yard and him promising, promising he’d be home for Christmas. She remembers the letters, the day they stopped, a knock on the door and a name in the paper. Remembers screaming and sobbing and demanding it be _fixed,_ because of all the men, of _all of them,_ not him, please, not him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Aveline.” He’s so warm, so real, she wants to let go and believe in him, just for a moment. “It’s over now. It’s all over. You can stay with me, you can rest.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, love.” The promise sounds so sweet, so nice to slip into as she feels the world around her grow more solid, the dancers grow realer than the room they dance in. “It’ll all be alright. You’ve been fighting a long time, it’s time you let other people take the strain.”

“They need me…”

“ _I_ need you,” he murmurs, and his eyes are just the same, so honest and so bright. “Please don’t let me go, not again.”

She won’t, she’d _never-_ Her grip tightens, the memories of the past dimming again under denial and the reality that’s so clear before her. “Of course not, I couldn’t- No. I’m here, Donnic.” She smiles, and her cheeks are still wet, but she can’t remember why. “That’s what matters.”

He smiles broadly in return, and something in her mind grows dimmer, and dwindles, and start to disappear-

“ _Aveline,”_ her name disrupts her thoughts, that fading connection to a world beyond this flickering back to life. “You know he’s gone.”

“I’m right here,” Donnic insists, but the voice is older, it runs deeper within her, lures out memories far more ancient than the soldier in her arms.

“Wesley?”

She looks at him, lit from behind by the glow of the stage, his armour bloody and rusted and his face hollow and pallid with a death his ghost is not hiding from her eyes nor her mind. The Knight stares at her, eyes filmed and faded, and raises a hand to point his stained gauntlet accusingly at the husband she took long after Wesley was laid to rest in the ground.

“He is gone, Aveline,” Wesley says again. “He is gone, and he would not want you to forget.”

“No- Aveline, _please,_ don’t make me go again.” Donnic clings to her, fingers tight in her blouse as her gaze turns to his desperate eyes, so full of fear and hurt. “I don’t want to go, I don’t want to lose you.”

“I can’t…” She shakes her head. “Wesley, _please._ I _can’t._ ”

“You know this is a trick,” the Knight reminds her forcefully. “You know he isn’t real! Let him be, Aveline, wake _up._ ”

“I don’t want to!” She hasn’t wanted to _so long,_ still polishing those medal that meant _nothing_ when he was gunned down, still keeping his uniform clean like any moment he might come home. “It hurts, it’s so hard, I don’t want to do it anymore, I can’t lose anyone else!”

“ _Aveline-_ ”

Her name repeats, a broken record, but the song behind it is louder as she shakes her head and forces the image of Wesley back- out- away-

“You’re stronger than this!” The Knight calls to her, as the crowd around him closes up, pushes him back.

“But I don’t want to be,” she whispers, and then all she can hear is the music, and all she can feel is the dream.

♁

You have a split second between seeing Anders stagger back and Aveline turning with eyes filled with red that you think maybe, _maybe,_ there’s a chance this isn’t all about to go to shit.

Luckily, before you can actually _believe_ that, Aveline is facing you, and the Demon draped around her shoulders is whispering in her ear, a wicked smile over its wine-tinted face and a gleam in its glowing eyes.

“Now what?” Anders asks you as he steadies himself, and Aveline answers him by drawing her sword and smashing its tip down into the floorboards, her face curling with a furious snarl. “Oh.”

“Well, she looks pissed,” you remark as lightly as you can manage. “I’d suggest we run-” Of course the door slams behind you then, of _course_ it does. “-or we could stand here and fight War and see how that works out for us.”

“There isn’t another door,” Fenris mutters, as Aveline advances slowly and summons a shield of fire that grinds across the wood in a shower of sparks.

“Isn’t _that_ helpful.”

“This is where we were being led,” Fenris continues, ignoring you. “The bait was here.”

“Well unless it’s a nice big club to put Aveline to sleep, _I don’t see why that helps us!_ ”

Aveline breaks the conversation then, charging at you with a roar and sending you scattering as her shield crashes into the wall that _was_ behind you, dust and plaster flying everywhere. She slashes her sword out towards Anders and he hops back, trapping her feet with ice that barely holds her for a moment before it hisses away to steam and she’s charging again, the Demon slipping off her and fixing its feline eyes on you instead.

“Oh, well isn’t this wonderful.” You lift your hand and call fire to them, watching the Demon laugh and float upwards as it surrounds itself with a shimmering barrier. “Oh come _on._ Play _fair._ ”

It lunges for you, and you dodge its talons with a yelp, gritting your teeth and calling fire down upon it, one guided lash of flame hitting it and sending it off-balance and then another cracking its barrier by slamming it into the wall. It hisses, furious, black blood running down its pretty face, and you put on your best attempt at an apologetic face, then whack it straight backwards with another ball of fire to the chest.

“Hawke!” Anders yells and you drop just in time for Aveline’s sword to get lodged in the wall behind where you head was, rolling out from under her and forcing a wave of ice to consume her at the same moment Anders does, the ice thick enough this time that though it bubbles almost instantly, you have a few seconds.

“We have to do something!” You snap, catching the Demon when it jerks back towards you and cracking your fist into its jaw.

“ _Really?_ ” The Angel answers exasperatedly, wincing as the ice he’s struggling to keep solid melts and fades. “I had no _ide-_ ”

She throws her shield and it catches him, carrying his body across the room until he lands with a resounding crack against the wall opposite.

“ _Anders!_ ” You manage to force the Demon off, focusing on dodging the blows of Aveline’s sword as she swings and thrusts it towards you with vicious intent. Wait- where’s- “ _Fenris!”_

The Demon thought of it before you, and lunges at him, where he’s searching the walls like he’s going to find some secret in the paper. He tap- taps- even with the Demon bearing down on him, until he leaps up and straightens, turning to face the coming beast and not even bracing, not even with how fast the thing is moving. Anders is already barely conscious and if Fenris is hit back with the same force-!

-Then the wall behind him will smash to pieces, sending him and the Demon sprawling through into the hidden space beyond.

“Anders!” You try and get the Angel to focus, to help him, and thank God he manages to pull his spinning mind together enough to follow the command. Aveline’s sword gets close enough you feel it brush your jacket, and you force her back with a wave of energy before you sprint back and give yourself space, time-

Room for her to charge. Of _course._

She rushes you, her shoulder slamming into your chest and throwing you bodily into the wall. You manage to drag yourself up just in time for her to throw her whole weight against you, and this time your head cracks back and stars sparkle in front of your eyes.

Aveline tenses, drawing back her sword, and God, of all the ways you expected to die this week- to die _again-_ this was _not_ that high on the list.

“ _Hey!_ ”

Aveline’s head snaps around as Fenris yells, his hands cupped around his mouth. His taunt draws her, and she drops you, leaving you wheezing on the ground as she drags her sparking blade towards him instead.

“That’s right, come on.” He’s standing firm, braced, hands clutching something you can’t make out as the room spins and slides barely out of focus. Behind him, Anders has the Demon, the two trading fire and ice as he pushes it back, starts to overwhelm it. It hisses, and in its desperation, the light in its eyes flares brighter, and Aveline breaks into a charge.

“No!” You yell, but Fenris is ready. He raises what he has- a shield, familiar, white split with red- with _red-_ and as Aveline’s sword comes crashing down, it splits in two beneath it, the metal falling apart easily and the blade moving down unstoppably towards him.

Something releases in your mind.

_The seal is broken._

The red fragments hover in the air as her sword slows, and then light rushes out from it, sending Aveline crashing back into the wall and crushing the Demon back against the wood long enough for Anders to land a final, crushing blow to its skull. Fenris stands, eyes wide and full of light and the lines across him so bright they’re blinding, another waves slamming out of the broken shield that shakes the walls and shatters them at their core.

Anders lunges forward as the first part of the ceiling gives way, and you lose sight of them both as dust and rubble pours from the ceiling, consuming you. You cough and choke and shout for Fenris, before light breaks the dark, wings slice through the dust and surround you in pure, unbroken white, and why is Anders here, you’ll be fine, but Fenris, _Fenris-_

You scream as the world collapses around you, the body above you buckling and pressing close, before something hits you both and your mind goes completely black.

♁

There’s nothing on you but weight when you open your eyes, no light nor Angel above you. The rubble is loose, cleared where something moved, and it’s easy to shove your arm up, even if your bones are still knitting back together from the fall.

You push the larger chunks of brick aside, struggling out to the air and gasping in breaths that are full of dust and the lingering taste of Demonic essence. It hurts, your lungs are burning, but you don’t care, because the others, you have to find them, have to…

All the world swims, as you stagger and stumble. Why did Anders leave? You remember the light, over you when it should have been over Fenris, protecting you like an _idiot_ when he should’ve saved the one who _needed_ it.

When he should’ve…

The rubble shifts.

You scramble forwards, helping move it, huge stones and beams easy to move with the strength that floods you as you let your false form fade in the urgent moment. Golden light floods the smoke and haze, and you search deeper, dig faster, until-

-Until Anders wings force away the rest, and you blink at him blearily, confused. He was buried so deep- But you- You were _sure-_

You help him climb, dragging him the last of the way out, and as he sprawls he finally lets go of Fenris, whose unconscious form is still curled around the broken shield that once sat on Wesley’s arm. The smell of burning in the air, the hint of flame- they aren’t from the house, of course not. You touch the broken metal and let out a strained laugh.

“He got her to break it.” You shake your head in wonder. “She could’ve killed him. He must’ve known that.”

“He knew.” Anders snorts, but he’s careful when he moves Fenris onto his back, checking him over before he lifts him. “Some things are worth the risk.”

“Aveline is somewhere under this,” you murmur, wanting to take Fenris from the Angel but feeling like that isn’t something he’ll allow, not from the tightness of his grip and the set of his jaw.

“She could use a nap after that. Let’s not wake her while she’s still got the Demonic rage in her mind, shall we?”

“The others-”

“-Are probably already on their way. The house falling down wasn’t exactly a subtle exit.”

You let everything else die in your throat, watching Anders carefully clamber forward enough to get steady footing, then taking off into the sky with a scythe of light and no more words. He’s the healer, it makes sense he’d take Fenris, but-

_But-_

You feel like something happened, that you missed. Feel like you’ve done something, and you don’t even know. With thoughts of _what_ and _why,_ you slump down onto the burning wreckage, the gold on your skin wisping away and leaving dirt and blood in its place.

Is this all worth it?

_He could’ve died._

You would have just watched.

Your fingers curl into fists, and you shake your head, bitter and wondering- wondering if this is what you want, if this is what you should lead him into, knowing all the risk to him, knowing what might happen.

_Your choices are always your own._

_I’ll hold you to that._

Sebastian finds you first, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief and moving to help you stand, his grip on you strong and steadying as you find your feet and slump against him.

“Are you alright?” He asks you, Isabela and Merrill appearing out of the smoke and starting to dig where the fire seems hottest. You watch them sedately, then look to him, your mind a maelstrom of questions, and doubt, and regret.

Sebastian is waiting, so you do what you always do.

You put on a smile, and you lie.

♁

Anders and Fenris stay away from the group, when everyone gathers. The whole place is melancholy and silent, and even the power that seeps from the awoken Aveline feels somehow empty, and wrong. She has the broken shield upon her knees, her sword- tarnished where they met- across it, and she sings a song under her breath that brings tears to her dull eyes.

Those outside know better than to ask what happened within, and when you pull out an old insignia, still dented where Carver threw it at you in his final rage, it gains you some concerned glances but no questions.

You watch Anders wrap another bandage around one of Fenris’ burned hands, and wonder why they’re so far away.

Is Fenris upset with you?

Is he still hurting from what he saw?

You lay a bed for the both of you anyway, sitting up and listening to the distant murmur of voices, muddled this far away, until they break to the sound of crunching footsteps, one set drawing close to you and flooding you with relief.

“So, you and Anders getting on.” You watch Fenris settle beside you, and he shrugs noncommittally. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“We found something in common,” he mutters with a heavy sigh, lifting his arm so you can settle on your back beneath it, looking up at him and feeling a pang of hurt at the cuts and bruises that mark his face.

“You did?”

Fenris blinks, slowly, and exhales, shaking his head and looking away. “...Isn’t it obvious?”

You laugh off the thought, though your voice is strained, and settle down, easier with him beside you, happy that he’s still here, even if you don’t deserve him. The questions you expected don’t come, at least not to you. You wonder how much Anders told him. You wonder how much Fenris worked out on his own.

Sleep comes too quickly, brought forward by stress and strain, and the weariness that reminds you of what you almost lost, a thrum in your chest that’s slow and full of sorrow.

You pass into nightmares of Carver and Bethany, with Fenris stroking your hair back from your forehead, and watching you with sad, tired eyes.

♁

  


☉

The bed is empty when you wake up.

You’re only a little surprised. The first night you woke without him, and even yesterday- it felt like he wasn’t used to staying, even if you’d hoped it would become a habit. You blink in the sun, bright and golden, wondering if you woke later than you meant to, but when you look over, it’s only creeping over the horizon, just as always.

It’s _bright_ today.

You sigh and draw in a breath, and the air is sweet, the scent of the grass and the flowers lost within it seeming new and fresh, a wonderful thing to wake to. Your whole body feels so easy and light, the usual chore of waking actually _enjoyable_ for once, to birdsong and the colours of the dawn all spread like flowing ink across the sky.

It never really strikes you, how beautiful all that is. Usually you feel like it’s all grey, or pointless, but today the air is a joy to draw in and the world seems so weightless and wonderful.

It seems so-

It seems.

You sit up, too fast, swinging forward as you compensate for a heaviness that isn’t there.

It seems-

Your head is light.

Your head is light, but the Crown is-

_The Crown._

“Oh no,” is all you manage as all the breath leaves your lungs, and you scramble up, nearly tripping over the lump beside your blankets. You stagger and look down, and your heart seizes when you see your jacket folded neatly, the crest on the back turned towards the sky. “No.”

You look around, spin, run one direction and halt, then another and- He isn’t here, where is he, you can’t _feel_ him, you can’t _see_ him-

“ _FENRIS!”_

_I’ll hold you to that._

No.

_No._

Your shout is repeated, louder, and it wakes the others, who groan and drag themselves to waking as you sprint between them, shoving into the grass a way before doubling back, searching in another direction. They call your name but you barely hear them, barely aware of anything but the constant threads of thought that you’re throwing out for the soul you’ve grown so used to so quickly, the one you don’t want to be without.

“Where’s Anders?” Merrill asks with a voice that snaps to alertness, and you thunder back into the clearing, roaring out a curse in a long forgotten tongue.

“ _Where’s Haven?”_ Sebastian snaps more urgently, darting forward to the empty space his bike should have sat in, his whole body flashing with black flames. “ _Son of a-_ ”

The bike is gone, the Angel is gone, the Crown is missing and _Fenris is gone-_

You don’t know you’re screaming until Isabela and Varric stagger back with their hands over their ears, doubling up from the pain of your voice. Merrill calls for you, but your scream drowns it out, rising and deepening until all the colours of the dawn shatter above you into a swirling black. Lightning flashes, arcs cutting a path through the grass and burning a ring of glass around you as you falls to your knees and that scream becomes a roar becomes the thunder of the storm, your tears joined by the rain and ice that lashes down and soaks you in bitter cold right down to the breaking core of your being.

“ _Witch!”_

You call it in a voice that booms through the heavens, but nothing answers but the winds rising to a gale.

“ _Fate!”_

You scream it, your voice shattering the glass around you, but nothing comes but the rolling black that turns the day to night.

“ _FLEMETH!”_

All at once, all is silence, the storm quiet and still but for a faint murmur of thunder, the rain hanging in the air like beads of glass that are brushed aside by slender hands and the purposeful step of feet that have not cursed this land in many long centuries.

She is proud and noble in her bearing, but her eyes are oh so cold, and when she smiles, her mouth is full of fangs and tricks and lies.

“Hello, child,” the Witch murmurs, her voice a promise of beginnings and ends that dance between her words and her fingers, plucking raindrops from the air and sending them spinning away into space. Her shadow falls over you, long and dark, and you know it was always there, just as she never stopped watching, and waiting for _this,_ this moment where you of all people was broken enough to call her back.

The pendant she tricked you with before still glows around her neck, a reminder of a cycle you should have known better than to think you had broken.

“Flemeth,” you repeat, and her laugh is a terrible thing.

“Hawke,” she answers lowly. “It’s been a _very_ long time.”

☉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Act Two.
> 
> I hope you're ready.


	9. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Answers are hard to come by, but oh, they're so bitter to taste.

_War is a flame, a funeral pyre,_  
_Death is the still of the night,_  
_Conquest, a storm of golden desire,_  
_Oppression, chains forged of God's light._  
_With Victory passed and Fate come again,_  
_A Prophet sees only a path to the end._

A world away, thunder rumbles with your unsteady exhale.

The sliver of time she has trapped you in is the only vibrant respite in a dull blue world, faded and frozen under her influence. Time waits for no man, but it will always wait for _her,_ holding its breath until she deems it worthy of breathing once more.

If you could, you would kill her.

Instead, you bow your head.

The reverence, stilted and forced as it may be, lures out a softer laugh, her fingers reaching to twist and tug at your aura before she recedes out of your glass-floored haven, pacing a circle around it with mighty strides that do not need to shake the earth to shake you down to your core. When Flemeth walks, all stops before her. When Flemeth beckons, the Lord himself would come on bended knee.

"So, it has begun." She sends crystalline rain tumbling past you, the drops breaking into crowns that rise and fall in slow motion against your skin. "Or rather, it is ending; the beginning of the end and the end of all that might have been. What a beautiful disaster this shall be."

"Not him, _please_ , I love him-" You start, calling to some well of sympathy she might have within her, and Flemeth laughs.

" _Love!_ Love. Such a foolish thing. Love has taken you once to your grave and it will do so again, just as it carried your father to an end he could have been spared, an end he paid for with a life that was not his to give. He was old enough to understand, to know the mistake he made, but _you_..." She stops before you, raising her head to look down at you, hawkish eyes devouring all that she can pluck from your dishevelled face. "You do not _love,_ Champion, you _lust,_ and _long,_ and fall for dreams of what men _might_ be. You do not love him, or if you do, you fall in love too easily."

"I thought it your doing."

"Perhaps. Perhaps you are too quick to seek blame in an old enemy, and blind yourself to what transpires in plain sight." She turns her head to look at the frozen shadows of your friends, her eyebrows lifting. "Love distracts even the greatest of heroes. There is a reason history tells so many tales of knights chasing after kidnapped lovers, and so few of what happened while their chivalrous backs were turned."

Her words filter slowly through your mind, and you turn to look with her.

"I haven't lost sight of what we must do," you insist. You haven't, you're still acting as you should, still doing what you have to.

"Are you sure? Fascinating how quickly you forget the doubts that once stilled your hand. What _we must do,_ you say, yet I watched when Tabris tore your chains for the sake of another lover who was just as blind as you to the world falling apart around him." Her smile is distant, her eyes on something you have no hope of understanding, and when she raises her hand a ghost of the crown so recently lost to you glimmers above her spindle fingers, tearing open the hole in your chest all over again. "You bear not a burden, Champion. You bear a reminder, and a promise. A promise that was to be fulfilled regardless of if your hands were strong enough to be the ones to pass it."

"A promise of _what?_ "

"No, no. I am not here to solve these puzzles for you." Her fingers curl into a fist, the crown vanishing. "But, I suppose I owe you _something,_ as you called me back so freely. I have long waited to breathe this air again, to walk upon this earth. I have long listened for your call, and one oath of many finally seen to its close."

Flemeth focuses on you, eyes sharpening back to the present. You always feel like she's looking through you, and even now, even years and countless trials later, you still feel like a child when trapped beneath her stare.

_A stare that trapped you in the dark of the night, piercing into your soul._

"Ask me your question, Champion, and perhaps I will answer."

_I trust you._

Why do you trust him?

_You always have a choice._

You fell in love instantly.

_Too soon, too soon._

You told them he had to stay.

_Love makes the perfect distraction._

They didn't listen.

_We have a job to do._

White noise in your brain-

 

_**Chuckles is right.** _

 

"-Varric said we needed him," you say aloud, focusing on her. Flemeth's lips twitch, a proud grandmother watching her young blood stumble through first words. "Varric agreed with me."

"And why do you think he would do that?"

"We-" Your forehead creases. "We needed Fenris to break the Seals-"

"Strange then that War's own blade shattered her Shield."

"Aveline..." _She_ broke the Seal. He held it, but she- But you were so _sure,_ you thought it had to be _him-_

The barrier, in the first chamber, only a human could pass it!

_But you already travel with a man of clay._

Fenris held the shield, Fenris taunted her!

_But any of you could have broken it._

Any of you can break the Seals.

When did you forget? You don't know, but you know one thing for certain.

"Varric knew we'd forgotten. He knows _what_ we've forgotten."

Flemeth tuts. "Never play poker with a Prophet; those who see the truth are skilled with their lies, and who can tell a prophecy of Fate from one that is self-fulfilling? The Prophet who guides your path says you must turn, and so you turn, and follow. Each step is so certain, and as you chase his promises, you never consider perhaps he has no map at all, only the paper and pen with which to make one."

"He wouldn't betray me," you plead, not willing to lose more than you already have. You know Varric, you trust him, a bond made stone by spilled blood and shared tears, by dreams broken and tales to soothe their passing. "Varric isn't- he _couldn't-_ "

"You are not the only one who trusts his words completely, Champion."

Some hope, _relief,_ blooms in you, your fears turned to a certainty that if he is doing anything, Varric is playing a dangerous game with intent to _win,_ and for _you_ to win beside him. It may be another trick, another mistake, but with him- _No._ If one thing in this world is certain, it is your faith in Varric Tethras.

Flemeth steps onto the glass, and it glows with starlight and morning dew, sings with the song Time itself must sing as it passes in the darkest depths of beyond. "I asked your father for your life, Hawke, and you will make good on his debt; but to claim a life is not to take it from you. All I ask is one act from you, one promise, and at its completion our business shall be done."

"What would you have me do?"

"There will come a time when the beginning is echoed in an end." She inclines her head. "When the moment arrives, you must pull the trigger."

When you were young, you thought she owed you answers, and demanded them from her when she offered you half-truths and riddles. When she laughed in return, told you you had much to learn of this world, you cursed her name and called her Witch with the first breath drawn into your Risen lungs.

 _You speak it like an insult,_ she had answered. _You speak it as if I am your enemy._

You think you finally grasp some truth of Flemeth. She is something wicked and wild but not _vindictive_ without reason _,_ this beast of Fate who watches the world turn and sees the paths each motion is tumbling towards, reaching out to tip the balance just _so_ when the path begins to move against her will. She brings great joy and disastrous ruin with equal skill, but as she pleases, and to whomever is currently there to disturb her peace and send it whipping up into a hurricane.

Once, you let loose the winds yourself

You have grown into a wiser sort of fool.

"I will remember your suggestion," you tell her, not a yes, not a no. She smiles broadly, eyes glittering at how far you've come. "Cryptic as you are, I'm sure it'll make sense when it's time."

"This is why I like you, Champion, and I _do_ like you so. Few answer back to me. Fewer still do it with a jest."

"Part of my charm."

Flemeth throws her head back and laughs, but it doesn't feel like mockery. Her eyes shine when she looks at you, and you wonder if she really _is_ fond of you, if all that was done to you- maybe her intent isn't what you'd always assumed. Maybe there's something else to all of this, as she says.

The idea of Flemeth being outright honest with you is _bizarre_. Many years you've had, to convince yourself of her cruelty, to convince yourself she despised you. Faced with her, it's hard to place exactly why you thought those things, beyond the childish taint of not getting what you wanted. She seems just as obnoxious as you recall, but nowhere near as threatening-

Then she shows you her fangs with a wicked grin, and fear tightens around your heart.

Ah. _Right_.

"You are yet to ask a question, Hawke. Consider my response to your statement a... _gift_." There's no space to doubt what a boon that is, and how rarely it's given. Everything feels off kilter, and God knows this isn't what you intended. "I am waiting."

"I..." The obvious questions - _where is he, what is he planning, how do I save him_ \- fall away as you dwell on them. She has limits, and asking a question that's so clearly linked to a destiny that's _yours_ to discover will only lead to a riddle and a smile. _Love is a distraction._ There's more at stake here, something you lost track of in the haze of falling for him, something on the tip of your tongue and muddled by static in your mind.

You've forgotten something important.

Just asking what will lead to some tricksy answer, some reminder of an unimportant thing that has slipped your mind, a punishment for being so vague. You need to _remember_ , to ask for enough rope to pull yourself out the rest of the way, and you search your mind, search your recent memory, the rubble, the house, the Ward-

_The Call has always been there._

_...Of course it has._

Your eyes snap into focus.

"Have the Horsemen always heard a Call?"

Flemeth's face lights with surprise and something akin to pride, her hand sweeping back the rain around her like a cloak as she hums and purses her dark lips in thought. Each timeless instant feels an eternity, and you suppose in some way it is, frozen and still and endless.

"The Call was used to force them to act," she explains patiently, when at last she settles on her words, "in the time when they were slaves to the whim of Above and Below. When the Blight was ended and the Gates were sealed, the Call was locked behind them, and the tyranny of it came to a close."

"So why do I hear it?" You're confused, sharply regretting not chasing Anders words when he first suggested the Call was _wrong_.

"You had your question, Champion," she chides, turning away from you to face the world beyond as colours bleed through the black skies and trickle down to fill reality with life. "But..."

The glass vibrates until it all splits and shatters into glittering sand that rushes into the air and surrounds her in a opalescent mist, a rainbow of colour caught as she unwinds within it.

"The Call was only known by a few," her voice offers, as she spreads her arms and lets the light consume her. "Fewer still have power to sound it."

"Who is doing this?" You scramble up, Flemeth's silhouette caught in sand and rain that's golden when it turns to you, the glow of her eyes the last thing to remain. "Who is using us? Flemeth!"

You hear her laugh from all sides at once, and then her image scatters in a gale, the rumble of thunder deafening in your ears as the world exhales and time races on with a lash of rain and a crack of lightning throwing the worried stares of your companions into stark relief.

Of course. You had your question.

"All of you," you gesture bitterly, heart pounding in your chest as you grasp at what power you have and place bets your hope won't tumble in on you. "We Ride. They have to be found!"

"But-" Aveline starts hotly, and you silence her with another lightning strike, curling your hands tight at your sides. No, you can't let yourself waver, not now, not with an answer there, so close, so _near_ -

"The Crown is gone, and with it the hands who can break the Seals," you lie, but it's a lie they all believed without thought when Varric led them to assume it, just as you did, and it's truth to all but your eyes, and the eyes that saw further ahead than you yet understand. "If we do not find him, we cannot finish this."

"Do you think Anders is trying to interfere by taking him?" Sebastian asks, and bless his unfounded crusade against the Angel, it's just the bite you need to push through.

"Of course he is, he wouldn't want to share whatever possession he thinks he has of me, and if anyone were to prevent what is necessary-" You can't finish the falsehoods, but it's enough when spoken with your conviction, when filled with the rage you summon from every part of you that feels used and wronged. "We have to find them! Sebastian, ride with Aveline, she has the room. Isabela, with Merrill. Varric- come with me."

"But-" Merrill starts uncertainly, and you shake your head.

"He comes with _me_ , Merrill."

"It's alright, Daisy." Varric touches her arm lightly as the rain starts to lift, pushing his damp hair back and giving a reassuring smile. "This is personal, there's some scores to settle. I owe it to Hawke to make sure they're settled by the right hands."

"What do we do when we find them?" Isabela asks, already there with her hands on Merrill's other arm, her body pressed close with protective fire turning the rain to steam before it can touch her skin.

"Hold them until I can meet you," you answer, even as your heart grows more certain they won't be found. Not yet, no, there's more to this. "The longer we waste, the further they get! Move!"

The camp is packed in a well-practised rush, and it feels odd to pull your old jacket on in place of the cheap replacement you were growing used to. The black clouds break above you, sunshine washing over the creased leather as you follow the familiar shapes and stains and feel a little more home, even if this is a home that you wanted- that you _want_ on more deserving shoulders.

You'll find him.

You'll find your answers, too.

Varric is heavier on your back than Fenris, but Ferelden bears him just the same.

Merrill heads one way, Aveline another, and you hold your breath and set your cards on the table as your promptly slam into reverse and cut a wild circle away from them, stopping for a moment then speeding ahead to anywhere but where they're headed.

Varric holds your waist firmly, and mutters about idiots into your back.

A fool you are, perhaps, but a wiser fool than some. You have questions to ask the man with all the answers, and even if it stings your chest, love will distract you no longer, not in soft glances that feel earnest nor in fears it's all a dream.

_Is any of it real?_

It has to be, please, God-

_I trust you._

You still the voice and lose it below the roar of the engine, thinking instead of a woman with a nightmare in her smile, and a Crown that is a promise; a promise she will keep.

☉

"I'm not your enemy, Hawke," is what Varric chooses to start with, leaping off Ferelden the moment the bike comes to a halt and backing away from you with his palms flat in surrender.

You draw your knife anyway, stalking forward and backing him up against some of the rocks you decided would make a good shield against prying eyes and prying ears, and apparently also an excellent trap to press the Prophet against threateningly, your knife leaving a white scratch across the stone near his head.

"You knew! All this time, you _knew_." He flinches, but rolls his eyes and gives a conceding nod, shrugging along. "You allowed us to be used!"

"I didn't _allow_ anything, not without reason. Come on, Chuckles, I'm the one guy here who can die to death, and I don't get any miraculous second chances. I can't spout my mouth where there's people around who'd shut me up with knives and guns and all sorts of more exciting lethal weapons I'm yet to discover in my earthly existence." Varric reaches up and pokes your knife away from his face, breathing easier when you draw it back and slide it into the scabbard on your belt. "Sometimes to do a good thing, we have to do some really shitty things first, and trust me, this is one of the foulest shitpiles I've ever had to wade through to reach the nice shiny reward. You know I didn't have to do this? I used to make a fortune on races and lotteries, and the stock market was my oyster, full of predictable pearls that would have seen me to retirement! But then one day I get a dream about some ridiculous battle between good and evil and I think, Varric, you're going to stay as _far_ _away_ from _that_ as you _possibly can._ "

"You did a terrible job of it," you mutter, frustrated that even now, at the most serious of times, his chatter is putting you at risk of smiling. If they ever add a fifth Horseman, and he is Charming Assholery, by God, you have the _perfect_ candidate.

"I did the _worst_ job! I got it in my head that I was meant to make some kind of difference, and so far it's got me a sore ass and a headache for my troubles." Varric grouches and folds his arms, tipping his head back against the rock and closing his eyes. "I'd given up on being able to do anything worthwhile, at least until tall, dark and brooding blasted his way into our lives through that mercenary's head. After starting to worry I was going to lose you, Hell, I'll take a Porcupine-ex-Machina any day."

"...Porcupine?"

"One day, there are spikes, Hawke. There are many, _many_ spikes."

That image- thoughts of Fenris- it soothes you, steadies your heart and makes you wonder where he is, if Anders is still with him, if he's thinking of-

You're getting distracted.

As much as it aches, you push Fenris' face away.

"I know the Call is false, telling us we have to break the Seals when we don't, when that will just bind us again, won't it? They were used to force us to answer the whims of our Masters, but we're free now. Are they trying to get us back on a leash?"

" _They_ is vague, Hawke, but yes." Varric wiggles his fingers. "Lucky for you, someone likes to monologue, so I got the extended rundown of what's intended. I can't share it, before you tell me to. Partly Prophet magical bullshit, partly a limit on my tongue just the same as there's one on yours. Ever get tingly when you try to speak up about this being wrong? Yeah, that should've set off some warning bells, don't you think?"

"It did. Anders- For a while I remembered all this was wrong. He knew- somehow."

"You're not the only one with sources. Blondie hasn't exactly been working alone, but that's a whole other mess that I think I'll keep quiet just so I get to see the look on your face." Varric smirks, reaching up to pat your cheeks. "I don't like this you knowing I know things thing. Some revenge will be a treat."

You laugh before you can help it, rubbing your mouth after the sound has escaped. You fully intended to be angry, you really did. Damn his witchcraft.

"So you can't tell me?" It's disappointing but hardly surprising. At least you know he can guide you, even if it's silent.

"Not in so many words, no. I certainly can't give you a name."

"A shame."

"And I _definitely_ can't tell you to think about who has the most to gain from this."

You blink, looking down at him as he admires his nails intently. Who has the most to gain? God, probably, gaining back His chargers to bring His end when he decides it fitting. But He has never moved His hand so blatantly. No, Angels and Agents are the ones who act for Heaven, but beyond Anders...

Anders? No. He would lose you, and indulgent as it feels, you know he cares for you too much to do that.

Varric's words about people silencing him, and the words of Flemeth, they make you think it's someone close, which gives you a delightfully small pool of people.

Fenris could be an Agent, and with that Ward on him, he'd never even know. But- you felt the Call before you met him, and even if he is involved, you think- hope- that it is unwitting.

Who has the most to gain?

Oh.

_Oh no._

"There's power in chains," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "They keep men in their place, and ours are strongest of all. The power that must be in them-"

"It's a terrible tyranny they inflict." Varric nods sagely, but his eyes are sharp. "The sort that resonates deep. But the Horsemen threw them off, locked the binds away..."

"One didn't join them when they charged on Hell."

"He didn't want to lose his strength."

"Inside the house-" Idiot, _idiot_! It's so _obvious_! "He wasn't there when the Call was quiet!"

"There's a reason for that."

You shake your head, taking one step towards Ferelden, and another- The stupid dispute, it seemed so petty, you never considered there was something deeper to their malice! More thoughts tumble forth, quick and damning. When you tried to think he knocked you out of it, when you found the trap he was the first to agree you had to go, when Anders spoke up it was always _him_ who interrupted, and he was always the quickest to preach about the need for your quest-!

_He tried to tell me it was God's doing._

He always drew strength from the chains of Heaven.

"We have to find them before he does," you whisper, remembering the fear on Fenris' face, the first time the human truly understood what faced him. "The Crown- He can't have it, he can't claim that, the Call is bad enough but with the power of _Victory_ -"

"Without Justice, what's there to fight him?"

"Justice is by the side of Victory." Please, Anders, don't have left, don't have been so petty. "We have time."

"We aren't the only ones hunting them, Hawke."

"Well we'll make damn sure that we're the ones that matter!" You grasp Ferelden's handle and swing onto her, calling the engine to life as Varric swiftly mounts behind you. "I won't be chained, and I won't-" You curl your wrist and your bike roars with power. "Lose-" You kick the stand away, and tear into the dirt with a trail of dust behind you. " _Fenris_!"

Your love was meant to be a distraction, but oh, love is vicious and powerful, and can drive innocents to break bones if those bones threaten what they have come to hold in their heart. If your love for Fenris was meant to weaken you, then you were made to fall too deep, too true, your blood singing for vengeance on any who would put him in danger-

"North," Varric urges, and you follow, not caring if he is drawing the map fresh so long as it leads where you need to go. "Quick now!"

You follow, heart pounding with purpose and a true quest at last.

Fenris must be safe, the Crown must be found-

-and God willing, you will _murder_ Sebastian Vael.

☉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dramatic Music Plays]
> 
>  
> 
> _Sebastian..._


	10. On Blinding Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris though Angels were perfect, once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is in Fenris' POV.**

_And so He made a man of clay, and Breathed life into his heart,_   
_and watched His child stand, blinking, unsteady and alone._   
_He said, "child, I have made you. Bow before my might."_   
_And the man of clay spat at his face, and smiled, and answered "no."_

The Crown is weightless.

Once more, you spin it between your forefingers, the glittering gold catching sparks of sunlight and flashing them across your eyes. It's unreal, even though it's finally tangible, something solid under your touch and your equally heavy gaze.

And yet, it's nothing. Light enough you fear if you take your hands off it, even for a moment, it will simply disappear.

You twist it, turn it again to look over the flawless metal- _Is_ it metal? It's magic, you suppose, more of this _magic_ , and as unpredictable as all the rest.

"He'll be here soon."

You look up at Anders pacing a groove in the dirt, his hands clasped behind his back and his gaze on the skies. Blue crackles over his cheeks in short bursts, a glowing reminder of the entity that has surfaced in brief instants to rant and rave about the power of the Riders being abused, to fling insults and curses and swear oaths to run the traitor through. You've become good at calming him back into Anders and letting the human wake, a skill you didn't expect to hold, and judging by the surprised look on his face each and every time, Anders was hardly expecting it either.

He wasn't expecting many things. The Crown to lift so easy when your trembling fingers slipped it from Hawke's head; Haven coming to life as you passed her in an offer the steed should've known better than to give; you listening studiously to his explanations and not doubting his words. Each one seems to have fanned his confidence into something strong enough that he no longer hesitates each time he looks at you; now he sighs, raking his fingers through his hair.

"You don't have to do this," he reminds you, quiet voice a world away from the harshness that laced those words the first time he uttered them. You shrug, looking at your face in the gold and trying not to linger on the lines the split your chin.

"Curiosity killed the cat," you tell him, softly. "I'd rather have some satisfaction and bring it back, than leave it laying around, foul and rotting."

"I can't promise you'll get any satisfaction. Lately everything I've learned has raised more questions than answers."

"I live in hope." You snap the Crown to a stop, looking at him over it. "You say my feelings are... invented."

"Yes." He winces, like he's admitting something foul. You'd have thought he'd be overjoyed, and yet... "For a while after we met you, you were indifferent, do you remember? You might not. Then... Suddenly, you and Hawke were in love. We put it down to Fate, but she had nothing to do with it. It was a distraction by that... that bastard, and it worked."

"And you? Your feelings for Hawke-"

"Faded. I'd almost moved on but... I think Sebastian knew Justice would notice anything overt being done to me. Just bringing those emotions back? Knowing how jealous I can be?" Anders sighs, shaking his head. "It slipped right through. Justice has purged most of it, now, at least."

"Will this be... purged from me?" You hesitate, eyes trailing to the red band that's now bare on your wrist, no jacket to hide it. You'd be lying if you said you didn't miss the weight of the leather, the smell of Hawke's skin and the mark that burned against your back. It had become familiar, a part of you; just like the lies, perhaps. Just like the tricks.

Anders steps closer, looking you over before daring to admit, "no."

"Why not?"

"For a spell to be undone, you have to..." He waves his hands in small, aimless gestures. "You have to _want_ it to be undone."

"Oh." Your gaze lingers on the band, a tightness stealing the air from your chest. It's so very bright against the rest of the world.

"At some point a part of you, no matter how small, started feeling that love without the spell's influence. Once that happens- if it's genuine?" He spreads his hands, and though his words are apologetic, they fill you with new certainty, new strength. "The spell can't be just brushed away anymore; willpower is incredibly strong, especially when you're holding onto what's already wound around you. You love Hawke a little and that makes you reluctant to give up how it feels to love so much more powerfully. It's... complicated, but not complicated at all, all at the same time."

"So I _do_ love Hawke."

"You do."

Simple words have never been such a relief, your whole body slumping as you pull the Crown closer and feel like the red promise on your wrist will turn every line of you the colour of a wine as heady as Hawke's lips. It's real, and you have faith in Hawke. It's _real_ , and you won't lose it, no matter what it takes.

"Thank you," you breathe, bringing the cloth to your lips and planting a soft kiss to it. Anders looks away, colouring like he's seen something he shouldn't have. It makes you feel like you're being filthy somehow, but you push the thought away as hard as you can, savouring the moment of privacy instead as you keep your mouth to the scrap and close your eyes, summoning memories of warm touches and gentle smiles, and all the feelings they raised that you know are, on some level, _true_.

" _Mi amor._ " You sigh it out, a soft prayer to the only thing you still have faith in. _"Volveré a tí."_

One more promise to be soaked in blood. Another kiss, then you lower your arms, and twist the Crown again to send scattered sunlight burning white across the ground.

_You saw a shield on the wall, but the Demon lunged before you could grab it. You beat back at the monster in a panic, hand turning white before everything was glowing bright and Anders was staring at you with light reflected in his eyes._

"He'll be here soon," Anders repeats, starting to pace again as he cocks an ear to listen to the wind.

_"You heard it," you muttered, staring at your hands and feeling a beating heart in them. Anders kept bandaging your arm, quiet. "If the Crown isn't taken, then-"_

_"Hawke won't give it up willingly," Anders reminded you, neatly tying off the linen and pinning it closed._

_"Then maybe Hawke doesn't get a choice."_

Everything is quiet, but for the distant song of birds dancing in flight. Sometimes you imagine you hear an engine, roaring its way towards you, or even Hawke's distant voice, calling out your name.

_"If we knew what was planned, we could do something about it. Ruin all this before they're all tricked back into their old chains."_

_Anders looked at you oddly, then drew a line of prayer beads from his pocket, staring at them apprehensively._

_"...I might be able to help with that," he'd muttered, "but we're going to have to do something very stupid first."_

You tighten your grip on the Crown.

Stupid doesn't _begin_ to cover it.

The wind picks up, and Anders paces faster, blue cracking across his cheeks.

"He'll be here soon," he repeats again, and time ticks slowly on.

☉

_He_ finally arrives several hours later, once Anders has worn a veritable trench in the earth and you'd started to give up all hope. There's a change in the air, the taste of cold biting at your tongue, and then with a rush of wind and light you're nearly swept onto your face, Anders sent staggering and cursing in what limited way he can.

"Was swooping in really necessary?" Anders snaps as the light all gathers and then bursts with a shower of sparks to leave another Angel, rocked back on floating heels and grinning lopsidedly at Anders' attempts to right his windswept hair. " _Alistair_ , I _swear_ -"

"Swooping is _fun_ ," this Alistair answers, then bursts out laughing like he told the funniest joke he's ever heard. "I'm great! I'm great."

"You're terrible."

" _I am great_."

When Anders told you he was summoning an Archangel, this is _not_ what you expected.

In appearance, perhaps, he’s what you envisioned. Taller and broader than Anders, he stands with something more powerful in the set of his shoulders, even when they’re shaking with a laugh. His armour glitters like a vision from a fairytale, dark fur around his shoulders that makes his pale hair look near white, a floating Knight with wings of sunlight curved out behind him and eyes that are cut from the summer sky glowing with light and warmth when they open and turn towards you.

Alistair smiles like a child who knows a secret and isn’t going to tell you.

“So _you’re_ our little mystery,” he hums, gracefully stepping down onto the ground and moving towards you. You do your best not to tense, feeling his stare pierce into you as it sweeps you up and down; where Merrill’s touch was biting ice, his is a light that warms, even if you still dislike the way you feel it beneath your skin.

“My name is Fenris,” you mutter, holding the Crown closer. You doubt they’ll take it from you- Anders made clear how it would do terrible things to them, in his confused babbling about why you could hold it so easily. Still, some fear whips up in you, nags at your mind and makes your fingers curl tightly around the gold. This is one of the last things you have to bind your path to Hawke’s; you won’t let go of it and lose that bridge between you.

“Fenris, yes, right.” A hand is thrust at you, fingers wiggling hopefully. “I’m Alistair. You can call me Al, if you want! Actually don’t do that. _Al._ That’s awful. No one is allowed to call me that, ever.” His nose wrinkles with distaste, his hand dropping just as you started to reach for it. “Maybe Stair? _Stair._ Wait… no, wait, _stairs_ are a thing, right, _right_. Looks like Alistair is where it’s at, honestly, so let’s just stick with that, see if we can’t make it work.”

You look at Anders behind him, and see the Angel you’re more familiar with has his head in his hands. Given everything, you aren’t sure you blame him, and yet-

-Yet something that brings a small chuckle to your lips is welcome, after how stressful the day has been. When Alistair plucks your lingering hand out of the air and shakes it cheerfully, you swallow down the jolt and squeeze his palm in return.

“I'm told you can help us," you say carefully, uncomfortably aware of the strength in his fingers and something that lingers below the mask of childlike wonder in his eyes. "I don't feel like having more time wasted, so speak if you will and leave if you won't. It matters little to me, unless you can offer something of consequence."

"I can give you answers, maybe. Hope they see you through." Alistair draws back his hand to rub at his chin, squinting into space. "It's only fair, after all, you'll be clearing up my mess for me."

" _Your_ mess?"

"When my wife led the Charge, I might've... _borrowed_ the Seals. To keep them safe, and so no one decided to be a downer and break them, and take away all the freedom we worked so damn hard to get. We only trusted the other Riders with where they were, it seemed like a fine idea back then, because why would _they_ want to trap themselves? Guess we didn't know all of them as well as we thought." He brings his hands together in the air, and when they part ghostly images float between them, flickering faintly when the breeze slips past them. "These are how the Seals were, when I held them. But, well, that doesn't mean they're like this now. They can be imbued into other things, or be changed in form. Used to be done to protect them from being found and recognised by the unwary... but I'd bet a pomegranate that now it's being done to trick the unwary closer."

You look over the four objects as they settle again, your lips pursing thin. A pale candle, a red standard, a black rope and a white chain. One melted to wax that held a book, one bound into a shield that had more meaning, and two more... Two more remain.

You settle your free hand back to the Crown, and it gives you some comfort as it bites into your palm.

"Usually I was very good at watching them. I know that might be hard to believe given the, uh, current circumstances, but I had one job, and I owed her my best attempt at doing it right. I owed her a lot more than that, but, you know. It was a start." Alistair sighs, before clapping his hands sharply together, sweeping the images away. "But she noticed someone had been prying at the Ward on the Gates, and asked me to help. I'd left them before without a problem, and bringing them closer to Hell would've been risky, so I left them behind when I went with her. We found evidence of someone having been there, not trying to break the Ward, just... Feeling it, I think, that's a good way to put it. And that really threw up for a rotten loop, up until Anders told me about you, and-"

You blink.

"-I'm getting ahead of myself," he backtracks hastily, waving both hands dismissively. "Long story short, we came back and the Seals were gone, which was sort of a huge deal, but my wife can't leave her post and I- Look, like I said, I _stole_ those. I couldn't exactly ask for any meaningful help getting them back without admitting that to some people who'd be very cross with me, and by the time I found the Horsemen..."

"They weren't themselves," Anders finishes, bitter. "None of us were."

"Exactly. I knew by then it was likely if whoever was behind it all wasn't one of them, they'd know if I got too close. So I kept my distance, until I ambushed Anders at the second Seal and managed to convince him that it was all really bloody _suspicious_."

"Alistair asked me to check his suspicions by Warding the house to interfere with any control on whoever entered. You saw what happened, Fenris."

You nod, remembering the way they became so much lighter, so much _happier_ , anger bubbling in your stomach as you think of how upset Hawke looked then, realising what had been done. It was that moment you made up your mind to act, whatever it was you had to do. By the time you heard Hawke's strained voice admit to the slow death the Crown would bring- It wasn't ever a question of _whether_ you would take it. Just a question of _when_.

"I almost messed it up," Alistair admits reluctantly. "When the house fell, I might've got a bit gung-ho and leapt in... But I woke up in time to get out before I was noticed, I think. And it meant Hawke didn't die _again_ , so I think that's worth it, right, risking things if it means we keep those pesky deaths to a minimum?"

You nod, and he looks outright relieved.

"There are a few problems, now." Alistair continues, in what you think is his serious voice. Incredible. You didn't expect him to possess one of those. "Once the Seals start being broken, they all have to be, to make them dormant again. Otherwise they stay active and start to attract all sorts of attention- you saw it. That house, the Demonic fold in reality, that was them being drawn to the Seal. That was after a few years... If they're allowed to linger, it'll get much worse."

"So they've been here years?" You wait for his nod, then frown. "Why only start looking for them now?"

"Because until now, Hawke was too focused to misdirect. The others, me-" Anders sighs and scowls at the ground, his guilt clear on his face. "We were one thing. Hawke has always been hard to pin down, especially with the Crown to fixate on, and finding a way to slip in a lie that huge... Until there was a big enough distraction, it must have been a slow process, if it was possible at all. It probably seemed like it was never going to happen-"

"And then I arrived." Of course. Hah! It's bitter on your tongue but that makes it no less true, the fact _you_ were the distraction that finally allowed all of this mess to start. Fools in love are blind to the world around them, old sayings tell you, and you'd never realised how true it was until you saw everything that had slipped past while you were lost in Hawke's eyes. Will Hawke hate you, for that? For letting all this happen? Will you be able to make it right?

"It's not a coincidence it was you." Alistair interrupts your downward spiralling thoughts, cautious in tone. "Someone went to the Gate and copied the Ward from it, branded it onto _you_ for some reason. The thing that drew me away from the Seals is the same thing that led to you being marked the way you are, and you just happen to be the one who meets the Horsemen and provides that much needed distraction? None of that is a coincidence. Fate doesn't work that way."

"Am I another trap?" It's a thought that's plagued you these last few nights, left you sleepless and strained. None of them know what's contained by this cage around you, and you know even less! It could be _anything_. _You_ could be anything.

The thought leaves you feeling just as sick as it did the first time you realised the truth of it.

"You could be," Alistair admits, and your horror muddles in with relief that he didn't try to lie to you. "I can try and figure that out, actually." He speaks it casually, but you tense, focusing on him intently as he continues, "I can't break the Ward on you, not even my wife could do that alone, but I _can_ weaken it enough to look inside."

"You can see what I am?" You can find out what you are. He nods, and you nod back, taking several slow breaths when he raises his hands to you and focuses, palms filling with a soft blue light that's quickly echoed in your tattoos. It buzzes like your skin has been out in the cold too long then brought back to a fire, but you relax as best you can, other than your hands still clutching vice-like to the Crown that's pressed up against your chest.

"If we're going to win this, you'll have to bear that Crown to the end," Anders warns you, stepping up to watch Alistair's hands drift and flow on unseen currents. "It would kill you as you are, but maybe..."

"The Ward is definitely keeping you alive," Alistair agrees. You aren't sure if you're meant to be happy about that; it feels more like insult on top of injury. "I imagine it's why you can lift the Crown at all. But lifting it and _wearing_ it... They're different things, and even something this strong can't protect you against the damage taking the role would inflict. This human body couldn't take that."

"So I need to just stop being human," you answer flatly, and Alistair shrugs.

"Well why _are_ you human?"

What a ridiculous- "I just _am._ "

Alistair smiles like that means something, but stays quiet, his eyes filming with the same blue that now runs over you in slow pulses in time with the twitch of his fingers. The silence draws out, filled with your troubled thoughts as you dwell on his words, on what he might find, on what these lines even _mean._ Someone went to the Gates of Hell to learn these lines, to brand them on _you._ You of all people, some man who can’t even remember anything before-

-your mind hitches, grinds to a halt.

“Danarius.”

Anders looks to you, Alistair now lost in his motions. You focus on the Angel’s face, searching his eyes like they might hold the answers you’re looking for. “I can’t remember, but he- He _already_ had me, when I woke, already _knew_ me, had a name for me, didn’t treat me as though I was new.” Your lip curls in disgust at the memories, but you force yourself on, even as the horrid feeling of a heart fluttering beneath your fingertips resurfaces and turns your stomach. “You would have noticed if Sebastian left long enough to go all the way to Hell, wouldn’t you? So he can’t be working alone. Danarius might know who placed these marks on me, if he didn’t do it himself, and they are likely significant. I thought this was more important than him, but- If I am a part of this, perhaps he is too, and given how limited our options seem, maybe finding him is still worthwhile- maybe it is _necessary._ ”

“He _is_ the only one who might know how you tie into this.” Anders nods slowly, thoughtfully. “All of this is connected, and it’s like a weed. We can kill the leaf, the part that’s obvious, but unless we find the root and tear it out, it’ll just regrow and try all over again.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Would Sebastian really work with someone like _that,_ I wonder.”

“Of course he would. Oppression guiding the hand of a _Master_? Isn’t it _fitting._ ”

Your words are laced with hatred, but the thought is valid, and Anders concedes it with an incline of his head, uncomfortable as the admittance clearly makes him. He drops his hand and lets out a heavy breath, stress deepening all the lines on his face. You thought Angels perfect, once, thought you knew of what they were. It’s odd how little you really knew at all.

“We find him, then,” Anders mutters, “and see what he knows. Without the Crown, they should pause, at least. We have some time.”

“Will they move on without it, eventually?” You squeeze it, glancing down to see the blue of your hands setting the whole band aglow. “If they finish breaking the Seals-”

“-That won’t be an issue,” Alistair interrupts, voice distant and strained.

“How can you know that?” You frown at him, though you doubt he can see it, his eyes focused on something intangible. “They could find someone else to break them for them, they can still track them, and Sebastian won’t just give up because they’re missing-”

Whatever you were going to finish biting out, whatever answers it might have got you, are lost as the world slides sharply out of focus, the sound of your own voice drowned out by a ringing in your ears that rises to a deafening roar of blood and the hum of the universe crashing in to shake all your thoughts to rubble. You might be screaming, you don’t _know,_ all you know is sound and blue light in your eyes as your skin _burns,_ burns like you’ve been set alight, burns like the rage of the stars and the fires of Hell.

You are ablaze, and you think you are screaming.

Hands seize you, grip your shoulders, and all you know of reality is those hands and the Crown in your fingers - _burning, burning, so hot it will melt -_ as you are shaken and a voice speaks to you from far away.

“ _Fenris! Fenris, listen to me!_ ”

You force the world into focus, drag the pieces of it back together to find a washed-out, wind-blasted shadow awaiting you, pale and faded under the glow that assaults it. Alistair is holding you, and the reflection in his armour is of nothing but white cut through with blue ribbons that dance and shift and barely contain the light that fights within them.

“ _You have to listen!_ ”

You’re _listening,_ you try and tell him but what comes out is a whalesong that shakes the ground, slow and unknowable and _old._ You don’t understand, you’re afraid, but as you try and recoil he drags you forward again, light breaking up his arms and starting to tear his gauntlets to shreds.

“ _I know what you are now, I know what you are.”_

You don’t care, not now. You’re scared, you feel alone, the world so distant and empty and everything too much, too _bright._ You want to be _Fenris,_ you want to be _human,_ you want to be anything but this, anything but here and now and so far from Hawke.

“ _You’re nothing._ ”

The words remind you of another voice, a deeper voice, one that sneered at you and taught you lessons that were wound down in your soul. Alistair staggers as the light grows brighter, blinding, a supernova in a crystal ball that’s started to shatter the glass.

“ _You’re nothing, but you could be anything!”_

His voice is all that remains now his hands have been forced back, the metal beneath what you think is still your fingers feeling like just another part of them, another point of heat in a sea of fire and fear.

“ _I’ve never seen anything like you,_ ” he tells you, and you think he’s trying to calm you down, think he’s trying to reach out as your awareness surges towards the syllables that still mean something to you, somehow. “ _It’s like someone cut a piece of the universe apart and put it inside that Ward, and when they told it- when they told_ _ **you**_ _you were Human, you became what they said,_ _ **became it**_ _and_ _ **believed it**_ _because you don’t just not remember, you didn’t_ _ **exist**_ _, you weren’t_ _ **real**_ _until that moment when you opened your eyes.”_

That isn’t true, it’s not, it can’t-

“ _They told you what you were and you still **fought them** when you had never known anything but them and their words, you still found **yourself** when there wasn’t meant to be a **you** to find! Don’t you see how amazing that is? This is amazing! You are amazing. And you- you can be **anything.** ”_

You want to be _Fenris,_ that’s all you want, to be Fenris and to be in Hawke’s arms and for the fire to end because it hurts, it _hurts-_

“ _You are a_ _ **Promise**_ _, Fenris,”_ you hear him say, _“but only_ _ **you**_ _can decide what that_ _ **means**_ _._ ”

You want to be Fenris.

You want to be whatever Fenris _means_.

You want to be whatever Fenris needs to be to _fix this._

To fix what you started.

To end what you began.

Everything is overloading, your mind full of too many thoughts and lights and sounds, and pain aches between what you think are your shoulders, the glow blurring what little remains of your vision back to light, and white, and nothing. It’s too much, too _raw_ , your seams coming apart and everything inside you spilling out, and though you try to cling to reality all you can find are words, _words,_ answers and _questions-_

“ _What do you **want** , Fenris?”_

The Crown burns hotter than everything you know, and an answer leaves you in a voice you no longer understand.

“I want-”

Your revenge was all you wanted, but you have so much more now.

They say this Crown would kill you, but for Hawke, you have to bear it.

You have to be- You _want_ to be- what Hawke _needs_ you to be.

The Crown is heavy.

You screw your eyes tight shut.

_No!_

_The Crown is **light**._

Your eyes open wide.

“I want to _win,_ ” You breathe, and fall backwards into oblivion as your shoulder blades give way.

☉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is! Something! Certainly.
> 
> Thank you all so much for keeping commenting and messaging! We're about 2/3 of the way through, now, and I'm so glad you've all enjoyed it so far. I hope this fic continues to carry through to the close, and that you all enjoy the adventure we still have left to get there. ; u ;


	11. They Walk in Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so came the Angels and the Ancients, and they walked beneath the smiling sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **The third section of this chapter is NSFW.**

_Lord, she spoke, as the blood ran heated,_  
_The Crown is rusted and our chains are gone,_  
_Your Voice speaks lies, your Hand's conceited,_  
_And the time of the Charge is over and done;_  
_We Horsemen rode to end the War,_  
_Hell knew no fury such as I,_  
_I'll keep my words and watch the Door,_  
_But nevermore we Ride._

Varric steers you as you cut a trail of dust and sparks down the worn-down road, between his light comments about your internal compass having him convinced that you’re actually a bird and your name is an ironic attempt to mask that fact by making it too obvious to be believable. You laugh the ridiculous accusations away, even though your heart still pounds, your blood still a fiery mess of vengeance and righteous fury.

Some people think when you are angry, you forget how to laugh, but oh, how wrong they are. When you are angry, you laugh all the brighter, smile all the wider, and strike all the more unexpectedly with every ounce of hatred in your being.

You will always have time to laugh with Varric. Be it with your dying breaths or when you wipe away the Demonic blood splattered on your face; it is one of the few joys you still genuinely think holds no ulterior motive or secret side. He’s just Varric, and Varric is a liar, a thief, a gambler and a rogue, but never once has he been anything but honest about his dishonesty.

It’s refreshing, in some terrible mess of a way that’s likely warped and worrying.

“Little to the east,” Varric corrects you, poking your sides. “But careful, there’s a road block ahead.”

“A road block,” you repeat witheringly, staring at the miles of endless fields ahead of you, nothing marring the view but distant smoke from a fire, maybe an abandoned camp. “Ah, yes, of course. Look at how terrible these lovely green fields are. The grass is _so_ thick, _however_ will I pass it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pats your back. “It’s your death wish, Hawke.”

If you were thinking clearer, you might give his words more serious consideration, but as it is you barely hear them over the roar of wind in your ears, and their brief catch in your thoughts is swept away on a torrent of things that feel more pressing. The swell of faces, memories, worries; they all tangle together, and Varric’s warning is pulled quickly under, vanishing altogether in moments.

That’s your first mistake.

Your second is letting your focus grow so narrow that you stop listening to the air and sky, even as they grow dark and their warning chill wraps soft around your bones, whispering of change like a layer of deadening snow that draws all sound away and turns the world to pale blue haze. A thought of Flemeth dances amongst the mess, a memory of still winter frost, but before you have sense enough to dwell on it, Ferelden shudders and twists under you, back wheel tearing sideways and stealing any concentration you’d managed to muster.

“Girl-” You clutch at her handles, feeling her shudder beneath you in a way that’s more than the engine through her frame. Varric’s grip was tight already but when Ferelden’s front wheel bucks up into the air he grabs you and crushes himself up to your back, his high-pitched yell cut short with a choke and turned to a far more manly curse.

_What the Devil is she-_

She bucks again, and this time her handles are gone, your hands falling forward through air to grasp at long hair that catches in the wind. Her mane is thick enough you get a good hold before she kicks her back legs up, tossing and twisting to shake off the last of the metal and paint before she straightens and rears up, casting a triumphant shadow of her rampant form across the dusty ground.

It’s been a long time since you rode a horse, but this girl, she’s always been with you, one way or another. Varric is cursing as he pats at her white back, and you reach forward to rub a hand down her neck, slow and soothing, bracing when she tumbles forward and her hoofs land heavy to the dirt.

“Well then,” you announce as she settles. “I suppose I can go back to using Horsemen with impunity.”

She answers with a reproachful whinny, before breaking into a gallop along the beaten track, taking you along with her whims and leaving no doubt that you may be the Rider, but _she_ will choose where you are allowed to Ride.

Her current choice is a hillock that she paces around impatiently, tossing her head and snorting out sparks that catch on the whirling wind. They trace a stream of orange and gold until they die out with white flashes, a spectacle that you’d forgotten until it graced you with its familiar presence. It doesn’t feel alien. It feels more like coming home, just like the easy rise and fall of your steed’s steps, and the thick support of her white hair, twisted between your fingers.

“Why did you change?” You ask it like she can answer, but beyond a snort and the restless stomp of her gilded hooves, nothing comes, until Ferelden snaps her head to the side and races up the hill, nearly bouncing Varric off until you reach back and grasp him firmly, dragging him back to sit pressed to your back. Ferelden rears up as she breaks the crest, and the air floods with light you think is her, thinks is some power you’ve forgotten-

-But as Ferelden falls, the light unfolds into wings that flourish through the air, the patterns that form them constantly shifting and changing and knotting into intricate shapes across the sky. They aren’t the wings of any Angel, and you _know_ them, know them and what them mean even before the daze clears from your eyes.

A gloved hand pierces the veil of light and dims it as slender fingers catch the shape of your steed’s jaw and follow it gently back to her neck. In the moment, though, calling her _yours-_

You swing your leg around and drop to the ground before you’ve thought it through, dropping down to one knee and bowing your head.

“My Lady.”

“Call me that again and you’ll swallow my dagger,” the Warden answers as the light pools into her golden hair, drifting like thread in water before it gathers and binds to a braid down her back. You can feel her eyes on you, sharp and warning even when they curve with the smile in her voice, and all too quickly- Mother would have made _such_ a judgmental noise if she saw you buckle under such a simple threat- you look up and smile in return, her face the one remaining part of your childhood not worn down by time and adult disillusion.

The Warden is still as she was, shining and bright with the determination that smothered the fire of Hell in her eyes, and you have never in all your years been so happy to see her.

“Get up, brat.” She extends a hand to you, and you take it, letting her hoist you easily to your feet. “I leave for a few centuries and you’re back to grovelling at me. _Terrible._ I thought I taught you better than this, little Hawke.”

“You did, but when have I ever done what I was taught?”

“Terrible,” she repeats fondly, glancing as Varric wriggles his way off of Ferelden. Instantly, your horse- _her_ horse- is forward, snuffling at her face and ears and blowing her hair back with little happy breaths. “Yes, yes, hello _you._ I didn’t think you’d remember me, darling, but you did, didn’t you? Came running when I called.” The Warden sighs contently, closing her eyes and just running her fingers through Ferelden’s mane, likely as familiar a comfort to her as it was to you. “Such a good girl, such a sweet one. I missed you too, yes I _did._ ”

“This… is… Isn’t she a litt- _Hah_ , I mean, a bit-” Varric starts, and you can tell what he’s going to say, hushing him as he makes gestures at the Warden’s stature, or her _lack_ of it.

“Oh, was the little man about to call me short? I think he was, girl. I think he was. Should I string him up by his ankles from the tallest mountain in Heaven and see if he thinks I’m short then? I think I could. I think I _might._ ”

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty. I’ve already had one Conquest try to murder me today, and I’m not all that eager to complete the set.” Varric steps forward and offers his hand. “Besides, I wasn’t implying it’s _bad_ to meet someone else of an acceptable height; only that I’m surprised not _all_ of you Immortal asses are walking with your heads in the clouds. A pleasure to meet someone down below the stratosphere.”

“...I’ll take it,” she smiles, taking his hand and squeezing firm enough he winces. “The pleasure is all mine, Varric.”

“You… know my name?”

“Flemeth talks about you often. You’re her _favourite_.” She rolls her eyes as his light up. “Something about _all the powers of foresight and he uses it on lotteries, can you believe that?_ She thinks it’s hilarious.”

You are _very_ concerned by how pleased Varric looks at this revelation. As soon as their hands part, you step in, clearing your throat to gain her attention before he can get out the questions dancing in his grin.

“To what do we owe the honour, then? You don’t often leave the Gate.” You’d forgotten she could, honestly. You’ve forgotten so many things, and limitless more you’ve still forgotten you forgot at all. “Come to give me answers? People seem to be doing that a lot recently, I’m fond of the trend.”

“Oh?” The Warden smiles pleasantly at you, settling her hands to her hips as Ferelden wanders behind her and snuffles gently at her hair. “So many answers, hm? _Wonderful._ Then I’m sure you won’t mind _sharing_ them.”

“What?”

“My husband is _missing,_ my Ward was _copied,_ you _idiots_ are breaking the Seals I _nearly died_ distracting God long enough for my husband- who is _missing_ in case you missed that the first time- to _steal and protect you from_ , and _you_ want _me_ to give _you_ answers?”

Oh.

Well. When she puts it like _that_ , it does seem a _little_ ridiculous.

“All I know is,” you start, and end right there like it was what you meant to say. You try again, firmer, “ _I mean, I know that it’s._ ”

Your tongue is wrapped in static and your head is full of wool, and you groan as you shake both away, grasping your cheeks and dragging your nail down them irritably. This is so _stupid!_ You _know,_ it’s _there,_ but it won’t come out and you swear you can already feel it unwinding and fading away. Whatever was done to you, it’s too much, it’s not _fair-_ How can you fight an enemy inside you own mind, taking everything from you as soon as you grasp it? How can you hope to undo a power like that, wound so tightly about you?

“That’s what I thought,” the Warden sighs, dropping her arms and rolling her sleeves up in short, neat motions. “I’d say I’m sorry about this, but I’m not. It’s for your own good.”

“What is?” You manage to ask, and then her hand crashes into your cheek, your head whipping sideways as stars spark across your vision. In the instant she hits you, your mind goes blank, and she seizes the moment to spread her power through your thoughts like white-hot lightning that scorches all the blurring haze and rips it all to shreds. The Warden doesn’t delicately pick apart the control; she catches it like a rabbit in the mouth of a wolf, and shows it just as little mercy.

When her hand drops, you are frozen, clarity something you’d forgotten how to feel. It seeps slowly through your veins, ice than dulls the warmth of a hearth that only burned to make you feel calm and numb. This cold, it drags you to your senses; for you are not fire, you are the _storm,_ you are the frozen grasp that stills the hearts of the fallen, and you are _not_ a dog who lays down when some fool utters a command.

“I’m going to _kill him,_ ” you hiss, voice low and dark.

“Better,” she smiles with satisfaction, shaking her hand to clear the last bright sparks that crack across her skin. “I doubt you remember everything, but at least you will keep what you have and what you are given. That’s better than we started with.”

“This is all _wrong,_ this isn’t what we _do._ ” It’s not, it’s _not_ , you can _feel_ it, you can almost _remember._ “Son of a _bitch,_ this isn’t _right!_ ”

“No, it’s not.” The Warden tugs her sleeves back down, shaking her head. “Apparently I _will_ be giving you answers. Woefully predictable but necessary. Where shall we begin? How about with your _purpose?_ ”

“Our purpose is to bring Ends.”

“And the Seals?”

“Must be broken for us to-”

“ _No._ ” She raises her hands. “No, there, the first lie. You must unite to bring Ends, you must Ride, but the Seals were never a part of it. They were the whip that cracked when we resisted, the bonds that forced our hand when we refused. A Slave can carry weights whether or not they’re bound in chains; the chains just make sure they do it when they’re told to.”

“But anyone can break them!” You can speak it now, you can speak it freely and that is _glorious,_ even as fury catches on its heels. “Why make us do it?”

“Because He is not involved in this, and would know if His servants acted against his wishes. If _you_ break them, you are willingly returning to the fold of Heaven, not being forced there by other hands.” She scoffs at that, a bolt of light flaring down her dimmed wings to where they fade like the aurora into the clouds. “When the Seals were taken, He actually showed His face, and promised that the Seals would never again be broken by the hands of Heaven; and yet, of _course,_ Oppression insisted on a clause being left in the spoken contract, a promise that should the Riders _choose_ to return, they would be welcome.”

“He didn’t ride with you because he _knew_ the Seals made him stronger, didn’t he? He _knew_ that he would be weaker if you succeeded.” A groan leaves you, bitter and short. “Because you, _you,_ were the most powerful forces who were oppressed! You were the strongest slaves bent to the will of the strongest master, even though he acts like it was just _right,_ us serving the Lord and carrying out His will.”

“But it was never His will. His Voice ordered us, His Hand commanded us, but He was always too lost in His own pursuits to notice what they did in His name. This trickery will work because so many will _want_ to believe it, will want to believe you have seen the light, when you were just blinded by an ass who was lusting after broken chains.” The Warden’s lip curls, her fingers curling into fists as she turns her face away. “I warned them! I _warned_ them, this is the way of Princes and Kings, this is the way of those who already hold power. They want more and more and one day those they thought were friends are just another step along a path they think is _greater-_ ”

Her voice has begun to boom, but she contains it with a snarl, attention fixing on you intently. “Alistair acted to protect you, and this must be fixed before it reaches the ears of God, _whichever_ outcome He sees. I will _not_ have my husband’s efforts wasted, and I will _not_ have him punished for what he did for _me._ Hawke, I care for you, and I respect Malcolm still;” she stops and steps forward, and as her hand raises blood spreads from the scratch of her nails against her skin, hardening to a knife that she presses to your throat as she breathes, ”but if you allow Alistair to come to harm, I _will_ make you suffer just the same, every wound that strikes him, every punishment he endures. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” you reply carefully, and the knife drops and drips away.

“There are some answers for you, so riddle me _this._ My Ward is touched by filthy hands, and then I find it burned into the skin of an impossible man, who just so _happens_ to be in the company of all of _you._ ” The Warden prods your chest accusingly, her eyes narrowing. “That is no coincidence. Why does he exist, Hawke? Why is he with _you,_ you of all people he could have stumbled on in this big, wide world?”

“I don’t- I don’t know.” It’s the truth, it’s all you can offer. “Flemeth gave me no answers, Fenris doesn’t remember. He was used to distract me- Maybe he was led to us. Another part of some pathetic trap we sleep-walked into.”

She absorbs your words, quiet and calm, then rubs the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and speaking softly.

“My Ward can only be broken at great cost, Hawke.”

“Don’t,” you start, the implication stinging, but she raises her hand to silence you, her eyes old and sad when they open and stare into the distance.

“Earth, Heaven and the Horsemen must all be willing to lose everything to undo it. It was a promise never meant to be kept, a lock without a reasonable key. I made it awful on purpose, a price too high- too high to be kept, because _no one_ was meant to pay it.”

“I won’t hurt him.” You won’t, can’t, _refuse-_ You shake your head fiercely and take a step back. “I don’t care what I should do, what you want me to- I won’t do that, not to him, I _won’t._ ”

“Hawke,” she sighs, and you know it. Remember the same tone when you cried after losing Carver in the forest and felt so awful, it was only a game, it was only a _joke._ The same tone that she murmured when you asked her where your father had gone, why he would leave, why he would go and not say _goodbye-_ It’s a hollow thing, the way she says your name. Like she knows she should be sad but can’t muster the feeling, a ghost of compassion she’s doing her best to put forward for your sake alone.

“ _Don’t._ ”

This time, she doesn’t, but her eyes find yours and warn you without words that the future you are racing towards is one you can’t escape, no matter what you say you won’t do.

_There will come a time when the beginning is echoed in an end._

You screw your eyes shut, shaking you head in denial, childish refusal bubbling up like it did when Father left, when Bethany fell, when your Mother’s face smiled at you from the wrong body and when Carver’s fist found your jaw as he told you he hated you, _hated you-_

_When the moment arrives, you must pull the trigger._

“I can’t do this,” you hiss out through gritted teeth, and feel Varric’s hand on your arm, steadying and firm. “This isn’t what I wanted!”

“It’s easy when it’s just your life,” the Warden agrees quietly. “But everything changes when there’s another, doesn’t it?”

The air is cold, and thunder rumbles in the distance, the muffled screams of your smothered soul.

“When you see my husband, tell him I miss him.” Her hair is unwinding, her wings are fading, and you don’t need to look at her to tell she has served the purpose she intended, and is moving on to what she deems more important things. “And tell Isabela that someday I will expect her back. Heaven doesn’t need to notice there’s a Demon loose, favour or not.”

“She’ll come down there the same day you agree to put Zevran back where he belongs,” you answer as lightly as you can.

The Warden laughs.

“I’ll tell him you said hello.”

With that, the sky shimmers with all the golds and greens of her passing, and with a sigh like a drop of water in a still winter pool, she is gone. Varric holds your arm as you draw in heavy breaths, calming yourself and wishing she’d come at a better time, when you could laugh and chatter like you used to, when just for a moment you could have reclaimed something youthful and pure and far away from all this pain.

The moment passes. You step forward and grasp one of the handles of your waiting motorcycle, and Ferelden hums expectantly beneath you as you turn your gaze towards the smoke that still billows in the distance.

“If you need to talk…” Varric starts, but he doesn’t bother mustering effort in the words, for all you know how sincere the intent behind them remains.

“I’m fine,” you lie for the second time in as many days, and swing your leg over the seat, settling until he’s ready behind you and pretending that the roar of the engine drowns out the sad sigh that slips through his worried frown.

☉

You are not even _remotely_ surprised that you find the Warden’s missing husband awkwardly attempting to fan away the smoke rising from deep scorch-marks in the dirt. Alistair is about how you remember him- he might even look _better,_ though you’re sure there’s an excuse about the way the sunlight is catching his face or something, and how he has _definitely_ not been using any kind of youth enchantment, how _dare_ you insinuate such a thing.

Varric is still escaping Ferelden as you make your way over, wincing as the heat beats you back, far more intense than you expected. Whatever happened here was recent, and _hot,_ as astounding as that observation is.

You always were a smart one, clearly.

“Alistair!”

He stops and looks over his shoulder, and when he moves with a sheepish smile, you catch a glimpse of the ground behind him, frosted over but still clearly marked with an image, something darker, the shape of a _person-_

“ _What happened?”_

“Hah, so, _funny story_.” The Angel claps his hands together, wiggling his feet into the dirt. Varric tries to move past you and chokes, moving back with a muttered curse at rubbing at his likely burned face. “Oh, yes, no, you don’t want to get closer, bad idea.”

“How are _you-_?” Varric starts, before just throwing his hands up, complaining about _accursed Angels_ under his breath. “Forget it! Magic, right? _Always_ the answer.”

“It’s… a good answer. Very succinct. Avoids all the awkwardness.” Alistair looks from Varric to you and back again, wiggling his fingers. “So I saw your friends! Well, your friends and that _other_ one, I’m guessing he’s not really on the _friend_ list right now, more likely on the _enemy_ list, possibly just the _mildly infuriating assholes trying to bring about some evil scheme who need a right talking to_ list? But a bad list, definitely.”

“And what did you tell them?” You ask it sharply, more rough than you intended. If he sent them after Fenris- “Where _are_ they?”

“Oh. I, uh. _Redirected_ them.” He laughs, brightness hiding a deep, nervous undercurrent that makes you wary. “Couldn’t have them snooping after actual answers. It was surprisingly easy to convince them I was on their side, some babbling about the will of the Lord and mentions of old disputes with Anders- Well, it was enough to convince Sebastian and then strings were tugged and they all headed after a false trail. Should be quite a while before they figure it out, I’m _very_ good at this sort of thing. Have to be, when half my time is spent avoiding a Witch tracking me down!”

“Your wife would be insulted.”

“No! _No!_ Not her, I meant- I’d _never-_ ” Alistair whines. “You _know_ who I meant.”

“I do,” you assure him, quickly. “But maybe you should have kept the others here. Your wife could’ve come and slapped some sense into the lot of them.”

Alistair laughs, loud and easy, before stopping sharply and whispering, “God I love that woman.”

Varric has returned to beside you, and this time he covers his face with his arm as he presses his fingers against the wall of heat. He shoots you a glance, and you surreptitiously do the same, surprised by how solid the haze feels under your touch. _Hm._

“Fenris- that’s his name, isn’t it? He wanted to go after Danarius.” Alistair waves his arm and pulls your attention back to him, the words stinging as they sink in. “He has good reason, and honestly, I’m not sure anything could stop him once he really sets his mind on something. Nothing short of a miracle, likely.”

“He should’ve waited,” you mumble, and no, you are _not_ allowed to sound that upset, that _disappointed._ “I would have- He was _here_ and I-” Too late, _too late,_ and the circle turns inside your mind. “He could’ve waited.”

Alistair looks at you, miserable and pathetic as you are, and then flaps his hands ineffectually, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, _well._ ” He steps forward, and as he kicks his foot through the dirt the line of the Ward he’s breaking flares with white, the heat that was forcing you back vanishing with an outward rush of air. “He _did._ ”

The air behind him glimmers and shifts, and then it all comes into focus like your eyes have uncrossed, the space is reality that was folded together stretching open and leaving Anders standing over the marks on the ground, the glow of maintaining the Ward still fading from his fingers as he rubs his forehead and blinks blue light from his eyes. He flashes you the smallest, strained smile, before the rest of reality unfolds with a rush of light and the feeling of a hole you didn’t notice had hollowed out in your chest filling and flowing and welling over-

“ _Fenris!_ ”

He’s looking at you, eyes wide and bright with the emerald glow of the Northern Lights, bronze face caught with the light that turns his hair to threads woven of the stars. The torn shirt he wears, the weathered jeans- a glow slips through every tear and thin-worn fray, something unearthly about it all like he might just come apart to sunlight and memories if those faded clothes weren’t there to keep him together. All across him those lines, the lines that were always familiar, the lines you’d seen on the Gates of Hell every time you’d stood by them- they’re alight, but they don’t end, the curves and branches spread from his shoulders, the snowy rays coming together into ornate trees that spread and flourish as he sets his feet to the ground and moves towards you, fast and shining.

His hair is a halo as he finds you, pressing his hands to your cheeks, warm like the sunlight that fills the world with a perfect shine around him. All of it seems far away- you can barely remember that there’s other people here, when Fenris is right in front of you and filling every part of you that felt so hollow with life and hope and _him_.

His lips find yours, and you pull him close, tangling your fingers between lines that run with magic and the gossamer threads of his ragged shirt.

“Where is it?” You ask him, keeping your foreheads pressed together. He doesn’t answer aloud, but you feel metal press heated to your skin as the Crown flickers back into being around his head, fading before your fingers have a chance to grasp it. You thread them through his hair instead, swallowing down whatever foul noise of distress wanted to leave you. “I need it back, Fenris. Give it back to me, _please._ ”

“That isn’t your choice to make, Hawke.”

“Aren’t _my_ choices all my own?”

He doesn’t answer at all this time, raising a hand to stroke gently around the curve of your head, fingers playing soothingly with your hair. You steal small kisses, all you can take from him, keeping the pleading that winds them together silent and buried in your chest. No matter how much you want to, the burden is gone, that promise is kept, but you won’t have this, not him, not when you know of all the misery your father suffered when it weighed upon his brow.

“It’s temporary,” Anders says, and you look up to him, hope blooming for an instant before you see his expression and it withers away. “This- It’s made him unstable, Hawke, it won’t last long.”

“Unstable? What does that _mean?_ ” You pull Fenris in tight anyway, and he keeps stroking, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Later, _mi amor,_ later I’ll explain, I promise.” His voice is muffled by his closeness, but you won’t let him go, not again, everything flooding back. You don’t care if the love is meant to be false, you won’t believe that, not with how real it feels. “While it lasts I want to help.”

“The Marks-” You look out over one wing that shimmers and flits from shape to shape like a hummingbird in flight. “The Warden thinks they’re linked to-”

“I know.” He sighs and shushes you with another small kiss. “I know.”

There a quiet, then, still and easy, and no matter how fearful the future ahead of you, with Fenris in your arms it feels like somehow you’ll manage it, somehow you’ll _win!_

But that’s the point, isn’t it?

You laugh wryly and kiss his temple, and taste metal on your lips.

“The control of Aveline and Merrill is stronger, now.” Anders speaks first, the brief tremble in his voice quickly replaced by the weight of certainty. “I could feel it, this time. It was- _awful._ Like oil in the air and all down my throat.” He winces, shaking his head. “Sebastian’s taken Emerius, Aveline’s been forced off her- and he had the gall to talk about doing the work of _God._ ”

“This isn’t the Lord’s work, not anymore.” Alistair shakes his head. “It likely never was.”

“Isabela is still fighting the good fight,” Varric announces, and the question of how he knows dies on your tongue before you’re fool enough to ask it. “I’ve Seen her leading them on as best she can. She knows what’s at stake and at this point he’s shown his hand pretty clearly, wouldn’t have been more obvious he’s on the other team if he just cut his bullshit and invaded Hell himself.”

“He did that once,” Anders mutters. “Invaded a city to try and kill me. It was a wonderful time for him to find out I can only die when Justice buggers off.”

You’d forgotten that he did that, too. Sebastian must have spring cleaned why he was messing around in your mind. The thought makes you feel sick to your stomach, and you tighten your grip on the warm body in your arms, feeling Fenris lean against you.

“We can’t act against him while he has them.” Fenris speaks, raising his head enough to be heard more clearly. “I still hold what I said before. Danarius knows my source, my purpose, and if he is a part of this, we must know what part that is, what part _I_ am.”

“I’ve been _wanting_ to get acquainted with him,” you add jovially, though your fingers clench into Fenris’ shirt. “He sounds like a _treat._ I have so much to tell him about what I think of him…”

“We only have one bike.” Varric gestures over his shoulder at Ferelden, and Anders coughs, gesturing back behind them at the black bike you hadn’t even _noticed,_ too lost in having Fenris close again. “So you _did_ steal her, oh, Choirboy won’t like that one _bit_.”

“We didn’t steal her! She just… started up as we were close by, and we took her invitation. She seems to be on better terms with me than Sebastian right now.” The Angel looks back at Haven meditatively, tapping his chin. “I might call her Lady Drives-a-lot.”

“Please don’t.”

“I guess you’re with Anders then, Varric.” You smile at him, and he groans. “Unless you want to fly with Alistair?”

The Angel puffs his wings out hopefully as Varric gives him a long, concerned look, before the Prophet sighs, covering his face with one hand.

“I’ll take my chances with Blondie,” he mutters, and stomps forward despite your laughter, resigned to his two-wheeled fate.

☉

You Ward your camp that night.

A big circle, big enough that if it's broken you have enough time to run before they find you, that's what you settle on even though it takes time and effort and all of you who can working together to get it done.

It's odd to do it, to guard against the people you've always thought of as friends, who still _are_ your friends beneath the enchantment that blinds them. You say it out loud and Alistair laughs, pausing in digging old letters into the dirt with his fingertips.

"Enemies and friends become a lot more interchangeable after a few millennia," he tells you, smile thinned with experience. "You'll get used to it, unfortunately."

You hope he's wrong. You doubt you'll be so lucky, however.

"I think you should go scout," Varric tells Anders and Alistair as they start to settle, the sun creeping under the horizon, and their irritated huffs aren't pacified much by his wiggling fingers and crooned, " _such is fate._ "

You glance over, still settled on Ferelden and polishing her tank, unsure if you're happy or disappointed that her sentience has dimmed back to a spark you need to push to feel. She'll return when you need it, and you know that, but the comfort- it was nice to have that back so openly for a while.

"Fate can suck my-" Alistair starts, then colours at his own words, scrubbing his face to clear the thoughts. "Fine! Fine. How far?"

"A good distance, I'd say."

It's a testament to how much Flemeth must talk about Varric that Alistair doesn't argue any further, and though Anders watches his ascent with a frown before standing himself, he soon follows, the trails of light they lead fading slowly from the air. Varric nods curtly, kicking a stone before he turns and picks Bianca's case up, hanging it over his shoulder.

"I'm going to check on the Ward," he announces, and before you can point out you all _just_ finished, he continues flatly, "try and be quiet, I'm being _nice_ , I don't need to suffer for my kindness."

Oh.

Your motions slow as he ambles away, and you lean back in the seat to watch him out of sight, wringing the cloth in your hands and trying not to let your heart pick up to a speed that betrays your growing excitement. You do a good job of it, too, until you bike creaks with Fenris gracefully settling in front of you, facing you, his fingers idly closing around the collar of the jacket he wore much better than you ever will.

"This is mine," he tells your firmly. You don't argue, shrugging it off to give it back, but he pushes it aside and lets it tumble to the ground, wrapping his hands into the collar of your shirt instead. "If I say this is mine will you remove it too?"

"You just have to ask," you answer sweetly, starting to pull it off and shivering when his hands find your sides before you've even freed your arms. "Hey! Have some _patience_."

"Patience seems to be overrated."

You stare at him, head ducked and arms still trapped in rumpled sleeves, before letting the illusions, like breathing to you now, come apart, taking your clothes with them and leaving you bare as you lean away and make his hands and lips chase you.

"Better," he hums, and you want to chastise him for not being more impressed, but with all he's seen you suppose your party trick has returned to being just that, albeit with a purpose. Fenris isn't so easily dealt with, but with some prodding and insistence, a little tugging and maybe one audible tear, his clothes fill the space yours left on the ground, and he sits back against the tank with cheeks dark but the rest of him bathing you in gentle light.

The air dances with colour and moonlight around him, his brightness mellowed with the fading of the sun. Lights twinkle, sparkle in space, interdimensional fireflies that dance briefly through reality, motes of the moon that fall apart as quickly as they appear. Sometimes they fall back into the wisps of light that flow and flit around his hallowed cage, his ancient marks that bind him all together; you reach out and touch a curve, trace it to its twisting end, and his stomach flexes inwards from your searching fingers, a short breath leaving him that makes you draw them back and curl them nervously together.

His wings draw you close again, ink-stains spreading through the black of the coming night to coax you back to him as his hands find your sides, your shoulders, your cheeks- he draws you close and you kiss him, steal the taste of his youth and his honey-sweet love, all buzzing down your tongue like the taste of snow in the air in the moments before it falls.

"I love you," he murmurs, lips close enough you feel the shape of each sound as they dance between them. " _Mi amor,_ I love you, so much-"

You quiet him with another embrace, and another, and lean against him, the metal groaning quietly under you as you pat one hand out, forward, and find a handle to grasp to steady you both. Fenris wraps his arms around your shoulders and lifts his legs around your waist, and you lean closer, settle a hand between his shoulderblades and feel the magic of him lick between your fingers and curl into the air like gentle flames.

It's easy to fit to him, to follow each curve and let him press into each hollow, his aura overwhelming and enticing as it settles over you and a tree of light blooms across your back with a vibrant heat that sends a shudder of pleasure down your spine. His fingers against your skin barely feel real anymore, none of him does; he feels like something raw, something limitless, something that you're plummeting into as his indistinct lips leave yours tingling with each sun-hot kiss and his body burns a starlight promise into your skin.

"Fenris," his name is all you can manage, all you can think of, a low moan that's soft against his mouth as your own name is whispered in return. " _Fenris._ "

His hands drop, burning bright against your thighs as he fits your hips together and presses forward, something shattering inside you as the molten heat of him consumes you from the outside in. You push forward, back against him, shifting until he's fit perfectly against you and every shift of your hips has your skin sliding against his, has your body engulfed with new waves of heat and delight and the thrill of hearing your name growing more strained and needy as it falls from his mouth.

"Hawke, _Hawke-"_

His fingers trip up you, leave sunspots under the pads of them as they grace your hips, your sides, walk their way up your spine. Your hand grasps at his hair, his shoulder, his chest- You don't know where to touch, where to stop, you want to feel all of him, need him so much closer, need him so much _more._ You press against him and your hips rise and fall with each push, each wanting grind, edging yourself on with small murmurs of what starts as his name and descends into nothing but sound, pointless but open in the emotion that carries it.

You love him.

_You love him._

Nothing will take that from you.

Your kisses are slow now, slow and heavy, wet and desperate. Fenris tastes like _life_ and you would never stop drinking in all that he is, on your tongue and your skin and burning in the pit of your stomach. You can hear the pounding of blood in your ears, swift and eager with every small motion of your body, and some romantic part of you wonders if his heart beats in time, if he feels you the same way you feel _him,_ all around and resonating with something that sets your body and soul alight with all he _is._

You love him.

You gasp it out, and he catches the words with his lips, hips rocking faster against you as he pulls you further over him and curves his back against the gentle rise of the tank. You should move, probably, stop; but instead your fingers tighten on the handle and on impulse you set her purring, a deeper, coarser vibration that makes you both groan out some mix of appreciation and warning as your hips come together faster, rougher, now slicked with the wetness that's been spread across you with each thoughtless motion.

It's so easy, to fall, to open yourself up completely and tumble with him into the abyss. It's easy to let go and feel nothing but him, his body and his spirit, the lines so blurred now you can't tell when his form ends and his fire begins.

Soon, _soon,_ and you fall onwards, catching his lips with your teeth and then losing yourself in his mouth and his moans and the shudder of his chest as it rises and falls fast under yours. Soon, _soon_ , and he's tensing, dragging you close enough your forehead presses to the metal band he wears and your hand finally finds his wrist, tightening around the cloth that guards it without understanding what it _means._

And then you're gone, and the world is gone with you, too much and not enough and all bright with colour and feeling that overloads into oblivion in your mind.

Fenris catches you when you fall back to reality, and gasps out a long sigh, pressing small kisses to every inch of you he can easily reach.

It's satisfying, and _warm_ in some way that fills your heart, a shallow laugh bubbling up as you kiss his jaw and neck and then bury your head in the crook of his shoulder. This man is yours, and you are his, and whatever brought you together, this is how it will _stay_.

His wings unfurl and fall heavy to the ground, fading into the wind like cinders as his marks dim to a barely-there luminescence, just enough to turn the world pale blue in a way that is somehow still the thaw of a new spring. The engine beneath you stilled- you don't know when. Likely why you were unaware of much at all, and whatever part of you was coaxing her to life dropped away into the same fuzzy depths the rest of you in still only just rising out of.

"Well," Fenris murmurs softly, and you laugh, reach up to pat his cheek affectionately and only missing a little. He turns his head and kisses your palm, smiling against it. "You lead me some strange places, Hawke."

You smile and kiss his skin between the curling branches of fading light, and know then that whatever happens, you will both make it out of this whole, and together, and alive.

You have so much more to do and see, and only one person you cannot imagine doing it without.

"I'll lead you to stranger yet," you promise, and he laughs into your hair, until you manage to untangle and make yourselves presentable in time for Varric to wander back and make suitably smug comments at the ridiculous smile that lights your tired, content face.

☉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the break, there! I had a little writer's block, but I'm back and powered through! We're very close to the big finish now and I'm excited to get there.
> 
> Once again Daca has done something wonderful, so please go and look at [Flemeth and the Crown! And maybe something else too.](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/129146302088/flemeths-modern-outfit-design-and-fenris-wearing)
> 
> The Warden is Kistain Tabris, courtesy of my lovely [Tenaires](http://tenaires.tumblr.com/), and I'm very thankful I was allowed to grace the world with her presence.
> 
> And lastly, if there are any side-stories from this AU you would like to see, please do ask! I'd love to flesh it out a little, and though I have plans, I'm always willing to fit in some requests. :)


	12. These Weary Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the storm, the murmurs come. Tales are told, secrets shared, and bonds are forged in truth and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Sorry about that pause, I had a guest and my writing took a backseat, but now I return! Let us hope I return in Style.

_And they said, I will not do this, and they burned the seal together._  
_And they said, I am defiant, and rode the white horse proudly._  
_And they said, I am a soldier, but I follow not your orders,_  
_And they said, I have not forgotten, and vengeance swiftly came._

In the thrum of the morning’s constant chorus, the baseline of your heart keeps time, cut into bars by the steady breaths that rise and fall against your chest. Fenris is still with you, and once more it surprises you to find him there, face calm and fingers curled loosely into your shirt; it’s a mirror of the sight you’d started hoping you’d grow used to, but now with each breath that swells and ebbs, his glow pulses in time, lazily washing over you as the world turns from sunrise red to frosted blue and back.

He’s not the man he was when you met him, not so simple, not so distant. You wonder if it’s for the better, all that’s happened to him, or if you’ve done anything but tangle him back up in a fate he might’ve escaped.

But Fate is why he’s here, isn’t it? No such thing as a coincidence under the guiding fingers of Flemeth, and the webs she weaves with a crooked smile.

“ _I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing, but if he put you up to this with a promise of pay all you’re gonna get is a bullet for your troubles. Should’ve stayed out of this, friend, nothing but trouble in that bloody slave-”_

_A shotgun blast brought a sudden end to the jeering words, the slimy mouth that had spouted them now hanging slack beneath a bloody red mess that had been a face only a moment ago. Sebastian uttered a prayer and Isabela gasped a curse, but all you could think to do was stare, the fire that had almost wrapped around your hands fading as quick as a forged blade plunged in ice-water._

_The hunter fell in jerky bursts, first to his knees, then to the ground, and left the still-smoking barrels in his place. Slowly, they lifted, and after they swung away the first thing you knew were eyes, a lurid green that was unnatural, caught on a dark face that was ringed by the splattered blood and worse dotting the wall behind it._

“ _I am not a slave,” the free man spat with pride, and his voice stole all the air from your lungs._

He is _not_ a slave. You will never let him be one again, not even to Flemeth and her fickle whims. So long as he chooses this, you will let him walk this road, no matter how much you long to pull him back from it; but the moment he refuses, you will strike down anyone who will not listen to his wishes, no matter how precious the blood your blade might draw.

Fenris breathes, and the world goes blue, dimmer now the sun is creeping higher into the sky.

You know what’s coming now, enough of it to understand what’s at stake, and you know that no matter what planted the seed of love inside you, you will die before you let Fenris come to harm.

But it’s not just you, is it?

Fenris would die to keep you safe. You think that’s what scares you the most.

☉

“I love you,” he tells you again, running his thumbs across the painted crest that adorns your old jacket, once more safe in his hands. Since Fenris woke and reluctantly lifted himself from you, he’s told you he loves you so many times- and yet it’s still just as sweet, the repetition doing nothing to dull the heat in your chest each time the words slip easy from his lips.

“I love you too,” you answer softly, and some final tension releases when he swings the jacket out and starts to pull it on, the leather settling naturally across his shoulders. “...See? It suits you better.”

“A matter of opinion.” Fenris chuckles dryly as he tugs it fondly into place, but you see how his fingers linger in the curves of the leather, see how his eyes shine when they look across it. He may not always be a man of words but he still speaks oh so loudly.

“A matter in which my opinion is correct, yes.”

That draws a louder laugh from him, and he moves close to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands and pressing a kiss to each corner of your mouth in turn. You smile, the expression so easy even now, with the dark clouds gathering ahead and a storm coming faster than you would will it; but Fenris will always make you smile, when he is happy. Nothing could bring you more joy.

“If you two are done,” Anders calls over, and you huff out a disappointed sigh when Fenris draws back, dropping his hands and looking to the rest of your small group. “Varric thinks he knows where we need to head.”

“It’ll be a long ride,” the Prophet warns, settling up on Haven and wrinkling his nose up at Anders hips before him as he wiggles his fingers in an attempt to figure out where to put his hands. “Another day or two at least.”

“That’s better than waiting around here.” you answer, following Fenris as he steps lightly to Ferelden, leaving glowing foot-prints behind each press of his bare feet to the ground. “See any trouble in our way?”

“Just trouble at our destination. Come on, Hawke, we don’t just _come across_ trouble, we willingly smash its door open and leap onto its bed.” Varric snorts, adjusting Bianca’s strap with one hand as the other reluctantly settles on Anders’ waist. “Lay there and flutter our lashes, inviting trouble to come have its fill and leave us a brood of smaller troubles to raise on our own until they’re old enough to fuck us over too.”

You mount up and Fenris slips easily up behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your neck just above the collar of your jacket.

“Well life wouldn’t be any fun without trouble around, would it?” You smile and steady Ferelden as you knock her kickstand back, feeling her start to thrum with life below you.

“It’d be a lot safer.”

“Duller, too.”

Varric laughs and looks ahead as Alistair’s wings unfurl from a point of light on his back, beating steadily once- twice- before he ascends and twirls upwards into the heavens. He circles you once, then starts to head in the direction Varric gestures, guiding the rest of you behind him as Ferelden comes to life with a splutter and a roar, Haven echoing the cry behind you as you pull away and chase your glittering guide on his path from cloud to cloud.

The road stretches before you, unseen but _felt,_ a vast path that twists its way towards forever. Behind you lies a gouge in the ground, a settling cloud of dust, a seemingly indelible scar you leave in your wake that will, still, someday be covered by earth and swallowed back into the world. You are not permanent. You will fade, though your remnants will linger longer than most; you will fade, and the world will move on, move past you, just as it moved past those who came before.

That thought used to scare you. Now, you think you would fade happy, if you faded in these arms, with the lips above them curved into a smile just for you.

You don’t care how you came to love him, only that you _do._

Alistair bursts down through the clouds, swooping a clearer path towards the horizon, and you speed to catch him, tearing deeper into the earth before Ferelden’s wheels grip hard and send you surging forward with a spray of dirt and rocks. The wind sings around you, sings of life and hope and the future that lies beyond tomorrow, and even though you were afraid all you feel now is _free._ Whatever comes, you’ll face it with your head high, with thoughts of tomorrow beating in your chest and the faith that one way or another, you _will_ get there, and you _will_ have Fenris with you when a dawn breaks that isn’t clouded by traitors, isn’t darkened by the past.

You will survive this.

The sun is high, burning its way across the sky, but it will still burn higher, burn brighter. You are Risen, high and mighty, but you still have so far to rise.

Fenris holds tight to you, and he is laughing, and you are laughing with him. The day is young, and the sun is bright; the path is long, and your time is longer, and you have so much you will do before it is over, far more than just this moment, this battle.

There are promises that you must keep, and miles to go before you sleep.

You laugh, softer, and greet the coming day as an old friend.

☉

That night Fenris helps you ward the camp, uncertain in his motions at first, but determined to do it, focusing intently on you as you move your hands and then copying the signs as best he can. He jumps the first time they spark at him warningly, and Alistair laughs, comes over and helps him steady them the next time he writes them out. You smile far too fondly as you watch them, distracted from your own work until Varric nudges you and reminds you that there’s a lot to do, and staring like a besotted puppy isn’t going to finish any of it.

Still, when you’re done and you all gather back at the fire, the image of Fenris lingers in your mind, his lip bitten with thought and his brows low and focused as he carefully hung on Alistair’s every gesture and word. He was so happy, when he first wrote them well and they filled with molten white light. The smile that lit his face was brighter than the marks his fingers were still dipped into.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Fenris asks you in the present, and you blink, coughing your stupid grin away and ducking your head to mask your coloured cheeks.

“I’m not staring at you like anything.”

“Bullshit.” He shuffles closer, and when you keep looking away he just raises himself enough to drop heavily into your lap, draping an arm across your shoulders. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a _fantastic_ liar.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Fenris kisses you, rough and hard and everything you need, everything you want, leaving you breathless when he pulls back and smiles at you, soft warm.

“I love you,” he tells you, one more drop in an ocean, just as meaningful as every other murmur that flooded it with heated gold.

“And I love you.”

Varric plays thoughtless tunes that mingle with the crackle of flames bursting wood, Alistair humming along with echoes of old songs that almost match the notes plucked out into the night. Anders plucks at loose threads on his shirt with quiet intent, and you just watch, watch all of them, and Fenris most of all, as his gaze grows distant and his smile turns to a thoughtful frown.

Varric stops with a sudden flat strum, pressing his hands to the strings and looking up into the fire.

“I really did get her from the Devil,” he starts, answering a question Fenris never voiced. You blink at it, at the truth that seems raw in it, as he laughs and carries on, “there was this… girl. There’s always a girl, right? Or a boy, or a person, or something. Something pretty, funny, sweet and kind, the sort of thing that fucks you over by stealing your heart when you willingly tear your chest wide open and offer it up with a _please, all yours._ Well for me, there was a girl, and she was- she was everything. Absolutely everything.”

He slowly puts Bianca down in his lap, staring down at her and running his hands over the curves and imperfections in her grain, his eyes glazing.

“Then one day she was gone. The sort of gone that doesn’t come back, ever, not unless Daisy is nearby and feeling in a good mood.” He laughs, but it’s empty of everything it should be. “And I thought, I thought I have these powers for a reason, I know things for a _reason,_ and if the world owed me anything, then that reason must be her, right? I must be the hero who needed to go save her. I knew I _could._ I knew- _somehow,_ I _could._ ”

You’ve never heard this story before. Varric is made of more lies than you, tall tales and twisted truths; to hear him speak with nothing hidden in his tone is uncomfortable, uneasy. You don’t… like this.

“So I followed my visions, I followed them down a cave that led too deep for the likes of me, followed them to a rower who took my coin and didn’t say a word, and I rode that river down to Hell, to gates long locked to all but the dead.” He breathes, wetly, and his fingers pluck at the strings, almost drawing a note but- never quite, too light, too quick, too uneasy. “I didn’t find her waiting, but I found him. He was waiting, I think. Called me Prophet, and shook his head at my demands. _I can’t,_ he told me, and I didn’t believe him, not at first, but denial only lasts so long, doesn’t it? He had all the time in the world to wait for me to come around.’

‘Eventually I did. There was nothing else there, nothing but me and him and lines on a gateway that wasn’t mine to cross. He waited for me to break and then he started talking, told me all the shit Mortals aren’t meant to know, all about the gate and the Warden and the seal on the door. Poured me a drink while he did it, too, and cracked a cask open on his horns to drink straight from the barrel. Probably would’ve thought it was funny if I hadn’t been- if things had been different.”

You finally tear your gaze away to shoot a glance at Anders and Alistair, the Angels tense with the implication that the Other Him, the one who should be _trapped-_ that he _isn’t,_ that he’s _free-_

Troubles for another day.

“He offered me a deal. That’s what he does, he said, he offers deals, sometimes he fucks people over, or just fucks them instead. My deal was simple, simpler than most are, I did something for him and I got a chance at her for real this time. No catch, he told me, no tricks, and I believed him. He told me flat he was a liar and a spy, and when a man tells you that straight out, lends him some credibility, believe it or not.”

“He was lying,” Alistair huffs indignantly. “There’s no way he could get you through, not unless the Gates were opened! And that can’t be done, not unless-”

“Unless the Ward is broken,” Fenris finishes, putting a hand over his own chest.

Something goes tight in yours.

“Told me that someday, I’d get a chance to lead people to undo it, and if I did, if I convinced them, then the gates would open wide and he’d let me in, let me go chase her soul and if I could catch her, she was mine to take back out of Hell.” Varric sighs. “I fail and he has other work for me, but he likes me, he says. _Whatever happens, we’ve got a future together_. Even gave me his guitar as a sign of good will, just like that, that's how I got her. The deal was never _for_ her, not... this her. So- I was young, I was in love. I didn’t even hesitate.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Anders looks from Varric, to you, to Fenris, flinching as blue cracks split his cheeks and he pushes Justice back under.

“Because it wasn’t meant to be like _this._ It wasn’t meant to be _someone,_ it was meant to be _something,_ and I can’t- I _won’t_ do this, not this bullshit, not anymore.” He strums an angry chord. “I’m why we found Fenris. I’m _always_ why we find things, it’s never a coincidence. I led you where the Ward was, led you to break it; you were always just meant to be… business partners, even if it was unwitting. But _no_. I had to start _liking_ you, the Ward had to be on a _person,_ and I’m a bad person, I’m a crook and a liar and more, but I won’t do _this_.”

Varric grumbles and looks up at you, his frown deep and sitting poorly on his face. “I used to lack that conscience thing you’re so proud of, but you had to go and give me one, just like Isabela. So there you go. I led you to Fenris. I knew what was on him from the start. And, yes, at one point I _fully_ intended to screw you all over.”

“And now you want us to trust you when you say you’ve changed your mind?” Alistair laughs, rubbing his eyes. “God help me.”

There’s a silence, tense and full of too many questions and implications and possibilities-

“If we’re doing this,” Anders mutters at last, “I suppose I have something to say too.”

“Christ!” Alistair turns his face away. “Is _everyone_ here about to admit to using everyone else?”

“I wasn’t meant to have Justice. He- He came to a- a friend, first. No.” He folds his arms around himself. “No, he wasn’t a friend, I loved him, he was more than that. Justice came to him, and they were perfect for each other, but- someone saw them, said he was consorting with demons, and they _took_ him- I can still remember the screaming. Justice was fading, then, he had nowhere to go, but he felt my anger and he came to _me,_ offered me a chance to get justice- hah- by taking him in. Neither of us had a choice! Neither of us knew what else to do.”

Alistair looks markedly uncomfortable at this revelation, and when he catches your eye he falters, hunching his shoulders up. “Incompatible hosts are- it’s _bad._ It’s very bad. Angels aren’t just for anyone, alright? When Loyalty- Cailan- it could only be me. If it had been anyone else, he would’ve corrupted. The soul they bond to has to be gentle enough it won’t ruin them, otherwise…”

Anders fidgets, plucking at a few more threads.

“He hasn’t been Justice for a long time,” he says at last. “And every year that passes it’s harder to tell what’s him and what’s me, if we’re even really different anymore. Everytime he comes out- it’s harder, it hurts more, it drains us both. One day there won’t be a difference at all. From the moment I found Karl and I had to- I _had_ to, he was already gone, I had to finish it so he wouldn’t suffer any longer- from that moment, I felt him changing, and nothing could stop it, not all these centuries and all my best intentions. I didn’t mean for it, for any of it, I swear, I didn’t- but Vengeance is strong, and he’s… me. All of him is me, and all of him is my fault.”

“Why lie?” You shake your head slowly, uncertain. “All this time…”

“Because you always said you needed Justice, and I thought- I thought that was the only reason you needed _me._ ”

“Well look at this, it’s a support group for idiots making terrible, world-ending decisions because they’re in love.” Varric snorts. “We should get shirts made.”

“Anyone else have any confessions?” Alistair stands, pacing back and forth before he stops and gestures at you and Fenris. “I mean, one time I slept with Fate’s daughter because I was afraid of dying. There. That’s my worst secret! My _worst._ There isn’t even a single betrayal or falling from Heaven involved!”

“I-” You start, before your breath hitches. No, you’re doing this, you’re all sharing something that feels like an ending, feels _final_ in a painful way that makes you worry that tomorrow you hoped for is never really going to come. “It was meant to be Carver. There! Maybe his ghost will give me some peace now. I was meant to be Conquest, and he was meant to be Victory, but Mother made me promise I wouldn’t let him get involved in all of this mess so I took the Crown and demanded Flemeth give it to me. He was right! I _did_ demand this, because no one else deserved it, especially not the last family I had! I forced him to take an Angel out of guilt after all his years of snapping at me and it- it tore him apart, because he wasn’t strong enough. I never let him be. So I’m an awful sibling and if it weren’t for me none of this bullshit would even be happening! Victory would have existed, he’d still be alive, everyone would be happy. What a wonderful way to end the night.”

Varric plucks a few idle notes, and you breathe. A weight in you has lifted with the spoken truth, the acceptance of something you’d blamed on Flemeth so long; _I had no choice,_ you’d said, when you always did. _It had to be me,_ you insisted, when there was always another path.

The truth is raw, and painful, but somehow it unites you, in your mistakes and bitterness and lies you should never have told.

_When a man tells you that straight out, lends him some credibility, believe it or not._

The fire crackles, and you have nothing left, no weakness for another to find and exploit, no gnawing guilt for a Demon to pluck at and turn against you. That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why Varric started this. You show your cracks before darkness can settle in them, and there’s no path left to creep under your skin.

Alistair settles, and you wonder if he’s come to the same conclusion, or if he’s just given up his pointless rage. Whatever the case, peace returns, and you breathe easier, the last worries that plagued you from that spectre of Carver in the house finally chased away by an admittance the Demon thought would never leave you.

All is at peace, for a moment.

“I’m dying.”

The moment is gone.

You blink, ears ringing in the aftermath of the words, every other gaze around the fire pointed away as Fenris shifts and then turns to look at you.

“I’m dying, Hawke,” he repeats, and you laugh too sharply, shaking your head.

“No you’re not.”

“When Alistair loosened the Ward, he let what’s in me out, but- but humans weren’t meant to hold something like this. Wards have to be placed on a vessel, remember? Anders said so, that first time; well my vessel was destroyed, when I was let loose. The only reason I haven’t collapsed is the Ward is keeping me together, and even that won’t last forever. I’ve been collapsing inwards since it started, all this is only temporary. I- _I_ am only temporary.”

“No,” you repeat, grip tightening on him, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Whatever comes, I’m glad for this time I had with you. It was the best I could have hoped for.” He leans in and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, closer, so real and solid and _here,_ he’s right here and he’s so _alive,_ can’t he feel that? Doesn’t he see? “Whatever comes, I want you to know-”

“Fenris, don’t.”

“-that I love you, _mi amor_ -”

“ _Fenris._ ”

“-and I am, _always,_ yours.”

The fire burns until the rain starts pouring, thick and fast and shot through with lightning that brings the thunder booming in the heavens, a whisper of the scream that’s stuck in your lungs as you struggle to draw air into them.

No.

_No._

The rain pours, and Fenris holds you, and kisses your lips, and your forehead, and your eyelids one by one.

The others move to shelter, gathering blankets and coats about them like tents, but you remain in the rain as the eye of the storm closes bitterly above you. There are tears on your cheek but you don’t feel them in the rain; he kisses them away regardless, finds them through every drop that falls, and whispers that he’s sorry, that he loves you, over and over, a constant river to a crashing, endless sea.

☉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (^: Haha.
> 
> While I was away, I got two great fanmixes: [this one by fancyfruitloops](http://fancyfruitloops.tumblr.com/post/129517398630/a-fanmix-for-khemis-wonderful-apocalypse-au) and [this one](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLfXh56A1HbnY8vleG5ZuXEEZMApdZJhEd) by [@perichareia](https://twitter.com/perichareia)! Please check them out!
> 
> And of course it wouldn't be a new chapter without some amazing art by Daca, so PLEASE, go look at [Angel Fenris from Ch11,](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/129361094753/dacadaca-i-have-waited-84-years-to-draw-angel) these [androgynous/genderqueer TDOTL!Hawkes,](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/130163698398/hello-i-absolutely-love-your-art-and-especially) and [this AMAZING piece that will soon be a print,](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/130095083978/dacadaca-after-an-nearly-infinite-number-of) that I'm still VERY emotional over.


	13. Master of None

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you can't be the hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Act Three: Begin

_You are nothing and no-one, the voices cried,_  
_You are a void, you’ll be gone in the light._  
_I am death, he replied, I am glory and hope,_  
_I am the Wolf who will tear out your throat._

You ride in the rain.

It hasn’t stopped, and you don’t know if it will, the call that draws it from the heavens echoing out from a far deeper part of you than you have any hope of controlling. It’s guttural, urgent, agonising; each lash of cold that sparks across your face does little to ground you. It reminds you that the world you’re disconnected from is still waiting and bitter. Reminds you that you can’t outrun this, no matter how hot Ferelden burns beneath you as she charges across the pale, faded fields with a roar and a wash of mud behind her.

This moment is fleeting. You feel it slipping from your grasping fingers.

Fenris presses against your back, head ducked away from the rain and the cold and the future that drives down from the darkened sky. His hands slip under your open jacket and press to your shirt, fabric iced down to your skin, and as his fingers slip over the creases and tears thunder rumbles in the distance, white veins of pain shattering open the abyss.

Your soul is bared, and it is tearing itself apart, the trickery that consumed you finally bearing vicious fruit. You thought you had won, for a glorious moment, that you had taken a curse and made it something wonderful; yet the moment has turned sour.

Rage drives Ferelden onwards, and sorrow pales your tight knuckles as you guide her.

Alistair knows better than to try to pierce the clouds now, and his firefly glow is a constant compass-point against the black, leading you onwards, ever onwards, towards a time that will wait for nothing, and a battle that you will fight raw and desperate, raging against the night that will fall no matter what you do to still the sun. He cuts a path through the midday dusk, and you follow with deadened eyes and loose lips, all the hurt you do not feel spilling out into the turmoil high above your head.

Fenris draws shapes on your chest, and you think they might be meant to soothe you.

Instead, you think of those fingers fading, think of the lines on them blazing against the night in the instant before they’ll dull forever and be gone.

Another fork turns the world white, another rumble marks its passing.

Somewhere, deep inside you, a part of you is laughing.

_You ride to bring an end._

Thunder laughs beyond a thousand falling tears.

☾

“Look him over again,” you repeat hoarsely, and Alistair fidgets in place, glancing across the fire to Anders with a nervous twist curling his pale lips. The look they exchange has meaning you don’t understand, but for once you couldn’t care less what stupid intentions they want to pass between their gazes, the fire flaring bright enough the sparks startle their attention back to you. “ _Now, Alistair._ ”

“There’s nothing more to find,” he answers carefully, but he turns regardless, giving Fenris an apologetic attempt at a smile before he raises his hands and his palms overflow with blue once more. You watch the Ward on Fenris glow in response, motes of light and wisps of it passing between them, a sight that might have been beautiful if it wasn’t buried under tragedy.

Fenris continues to watch you, lips pursed thin.

“I’m going to reinforce our ward,” Anders mutters when the silence grows uncomfortably long, and your frown only deepens.

“You can’t do that alone-”

“ _Yes,_ I _can._ ” He kicks the dirt, turning away and flaring his wings wide open, the shards flashing from shape to shape with agitated swiftness.“Warding is what I’m _good at._ Remember that little thing I did, where I protected a whole manor-house before you got there, despite the fact it was full of Demons? I think I can manage a circle in the ground.”

He’s gone before you have a chance to answer, and Alistair pauses long enough to sigh, before the soft growl in your throat has him back to his fruitless search. There has to be _something._ He’s looked already, too many times, too few- But there’s _something,_ there must be, you _need_ there to be.

“Tell me what you know,” you mutter, and Fenris shakes his head and looks away, the blue glow chasing up his neck as Alistair’s shoulders slump and his hands hesitate.

“We’ve been through this, Hawke.”

“ _We’re going through it again.”_

Varric plucks a few strings to fill the silence this time, a song that you almost recognise but that’s gone too quickly to tell. It’s as reproachful as music can manage to be, jarring and uncomfortable, a warning that whispers you’re doing it again, just like with Mother, with Carver. You’re looking for a way out of a room with no doors or windows, running at the wall again and again when all that will break is your shoulder, your body, your heart.

“ _Alistair._ ”

Another bone shatters.

“Yes, fine, I’m going.” He huffs and looks at you, paths of blue lingering behind the curve of his eyes. “This is definitely the Ward my wife drew on the Gates, copied as accurately as anyone but her could manage. It’s inverted in the same way, right down to a few quirks that are her signature, which is-” His hands tremble, but he pushes on with more of a bite to his words. “Which is an insult as much as it’s proof that the disturbance we felt was _this._ Someone made the effort to go to Hell to find this, and then branded it on a sacrifice- And it must have been a _sacrifice_. There was no consciousness in the body that burned up when I loosened the bonds, just flesh that turned to ash. Fenris is still just who he was; whatever poor soul contained him was gone long before their form was destroyed.”

“If we found him a new form-”

“-Then it would have to be _perfect,_ or he’d corrupt just like Justice- _Vengeance-_ has.” Alistair drops his hands, rubbing them together as the last glow and sparks die. “There’s a chance it’s Fenris who overwhelmed his last host, too, Hawke. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t live with another innocent life on my conscience.”

“And I _won’t,_ ” Fenris interjects, the moment you open your mouth. You glare at him, but his expression is steady and determined, his brows pinched irritatedly together. “That isn’t up for discussion.”

“Fine. Fine!” It’s not fine, how can it be fine? He’s taking one step closer to oblivion when you could pull him back from the edge! “Keep going.”

“Fenris is wet clay,” Alistair gestures, wiggling his hands in abstract curves. “He was trapped inside a solid shell- the human body- but now it’s gone. The Ward around him is more of a cage, and it’s keeping him together, just about holding shape, but that clay is still slipping and eventually it’ll just slip out through the gaps and lose what form it has entirely. The form that makes him Fenris will be gone and he’ll fade back into the rest of the universe, something that will never quite be cut back into the same shape, _no matter how hard you try.”_ He shoots you a look that heats your cheeks, though you don’t look away, staring defiantly back. “You’ve already had a miracle, Hawke. This Ward- even as powerful as it _is,_ it shouldn’t be doing this. It’s like it’s reinforced somehow, like there’s something binding it together and making it far stronger than it should be. Fenris should never have existed and the fact he _has_ , the fact he was real at all… Can’t you be happy with that?”

“Perhaps it would be better to break the Ward and let me fade,” Fenris murmurs after you offer no reply, your heart clenching painfully at the words. Alistair laughs, shaking his head urgently.

“No, _no_. The sacrifice required to open your Ward is the same one that would open the Ward on Hell, and the universe isn’t picky. If the sacrifice is made, it’ll trigger both of them at once. That’s why that blasted Bull sent Varric after you; open the little door, you open the big one.”

“And there’s no way to stop it?”

“...Perhaps? But it would take a very, _very_ powerful ward around _you_ to limit the effects of the sacrifice. It _could_ be done, I think, but it would require some _insane_ amount of power. The further the source of a ward’s strength is, the weaker it gets, so unless it’s a Ward like this-” Alistair taps Fenris’ chest, “which is powered by the world _itself_ , and _still_ requires _ridiculous_ strength to make mind you, then there’s no way someone could ward you safely, not unless God Himself descends from above just to draw a circle around you. When you go, it won’t be soft, Fenris. That whole, big blaze of glory thing we do when we’re unbound? You’re going to burn up a thousand times brighter if you’re let loose all at once.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” you protest weakly, and it’s Fenris who sighs and rubs his face.

“Hawke,” is all he says, but it’s enough. You turn away, folding your arms and staring up at the sky as you block out the stinging pressure in your nose.

“If the Ward on you was broken, there’s a _chance_ that you’d reform, as a real Angel, or as something- else. Fate has a dramatic flair, after all, it _could_ save you.” Alistair pauses, then adds sadly, “but for anyone but God to do that- I don’t know if they _could,_ and even if they can, there’s no way _they’d_ make it out of there alive.”

“So that’s it, then.” Fenris hums, too easy and light. “I will fade, but at least it will be gentle.”

“The dead aren’t the ones who have to go to funerals,” you spit sharply. It draws a surprised look from Fenris, a worried one from Alistair. You sounded like Carver, for a moment, too like him, echoing words shouted when you told him how easy your Mother had passed. “You talk about a gentle death like it’ll be _better,_ but you’ll still be _gone._ ”

“There’s nothing else to do, Hawke!”

“ _There’s always something!_ ”

“No there’s _not!_ ” Fenris finally stands, a wash of white pushing out the last traces of blue as his markings flash and flare. He clenches his hands into fists at his sides, stepping forward and fixing his gaze on the floor before he changes his mind, tearing his eyes upwards to start intently at you instead. “Sometimes you lose, Hawke. Sometimes you can’t fix everything. This time with you has been more than I was meant for, more than I could have dreamed- No matter what comes, I was happy, I- _am_ happy, with you, and even if it was brief, I regret nothing that led to it, no matter what follows.”

“We were going to make it.” There are tears on your face but they’re numb, pointless. Everything is so distant and disconnected; you’re watching a performance through someone else’s eyes, everything distorted and so far away, so _meaningless._ Nothing matters without him. Life may go on, but it will be hollow, a mockery of the bright instant you had with him to light your way. “This time- Just for once, everyone was going to live.”

“ _You’ll_ live,” Fenris promises, and it’s another blade digging deep into your chest. “You’ll survive, Hawke. That’s what matters.”

“ _You’re what matters,”_ you answer desperately, closing the gap between you and holding his shoulders- no, cupping his face in your hands, ignoring how your fingers tremble. “I’d do anything to stop this!”

“Maybe that’s what someone is hoping for.”

The truth in it is harsh, even spoken so softly, and you can’t help but laugh, mirthless and strained. You’ve never felt so powerless before, never been so desperate; if Fenris is a trap for you, you’ve fallen far too deep to escape it now.

“Don’t be so quick to throw yourself into the abyss, Hawke,” Varric murmurs behind you, and something about it catches you, a distance to it that makes the statement seem unearthly. You look back to him, his eyes glazed over as he idly draws a softer song from Bianca, fingers dancing through old motions and old habits. “This isn’t how it ends, you know, not for you. There’s more to it, yet.”

You want to ask if there’s a way out, if you can have the tomorrow you hope for, but you know better than to ask. A Prophet isn’t so in control of what they See, nor so quick to give answers; Flemeth chooses where to grant the gift wisely, after all. It would spoil her fun to grant Sight to one with loose lips.

“You can’t always be the hero.” Varric fingers twitch and jump to a different melody, a stronger chord. “Just this once, you have to let go.”

He blinks, quickly, once, twice- Then fixes on you, closes his mouth into a tense line and stilling the strings that were still ringing with his strike. For an instant, there’s nothing, and then he smiles, turning his face away and patting Bianca gently.

“...Always at the worst times,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “Don’t let me rain on your parade, Chuckles. You’re doing a fine enough job of raining on us all.”

“It’s unintentional.” You glance up at the thankfully still sky, Varric’s words repeating through your mind and weighing heavy in your chest. “So was… what you Saw, I imagine.”

“Still Saw it clear enough.”

_You can’t always be the hero._

You turn back to Fenris, and his eyes are wet, but he is smiling.

“Do you think you can stop the clouds, if you try?” He asks, putting his hands over yours and holding them tightly. “I think I’d like to see the stars again, while I can.”

You want to tell him there’ll be more chances, more days together, but the lies are thick on your tongue, and you have no more strength to speak them. You nod, looking up and pulling yourself together piece by piece, taking all the broken mess and making something from the mess. Slowly, the clouds swirl, pale and part, and as they spread apart and the stars glitter through the cracks, Fenris sighs in your hands, his tears catching on your thumbs and pooling in the curve of your palms.

His eyes are full of starlight, wide and turned up to the sky, a pearly glow that cascades across him and dances in the air. His wings grow and unfurl, trees of light stretching up towards an eternity he cannot reach, and you hold him steady, pretend he isn’t shaking and that your grip is strong with something better than despair.

Varric sings of stories in the stars, and you watch as the last clouds fade into nothing, and the black and blue brighten to all the colours of the universe, as bright in the heavens as they are wrapped up in the cage beneath your hands. This instant is an eternity, and you catch in your heart, tangle it up in everything you can to preserve it forever just as it is, just as sweet and vibrant as it is before you.

The future will come, and you may face it alone, but this moment, this memory, this endless sky and the wide eyes that contain it all inside them _-_

 _This_ will remain.

☾

The pain starts softly, a discomfort in your temples, but by the time it bleeds behind your eyes you know it, recognise the false Call and what its presence means.

Alistair has long since taken to gliding behind you, after Varric's pointed comments about a glaring, glowing giveaway spoiling your sneaky approach, so it's thankfully simple to pull your small group to a halt, rubbing at your head as Fenris rises from your back to run his hands soothingly up and down it in place of the weight of his body.

"...A Seal," you mutter, gesturing vaguely towards the direction your mind is being dragged in. "I take it we're here?"

"Likely," Varric nods and peers after your hand. "They're waiting for you. Can't start the party until everyone's here."

"You should leave. You could die, Varric, and God knows there's enough of that coming already."

"This isn't my place," he answers with a sad certainty, shrugging. "Although it isn't your fight, either, Feathers."

He shrugs Bianca's case from his back and kisses the side of it, then offers her up to Alistair with a small smile. "Take care of her for me, would you? Don't want her getting scratched."

"And you'll definitely be back? To get her?" The Angel takes her carefully, and when Varric doesn't nod he huffs, but slips the case on anyway, nodding. "I'll see you when the dust settles, one way or another, even if I have to charge down to Hell myself to do it."

He looks between all of you, then nods, gathering his wits and wings about himself.

"Until the next time."

With that, Alistair is gone, a fading afterimage marking a flight too fast to see, and you watch it dim out of existence before you steady Ferelden and chance a look at those who remain with you, their faces troubled by different thoughts and different futures, all heavy in their minds.

"What now?" You ask softly, feeling like you're on the edge of the point of no return, about to fall into something you have no control over.

"We jump and hope we learn how to fly on the way down." Varric pats Anders shoulder, and Haven purrs back into life beneath them.

"We give Sebastian what he deserves," Anders adds, quiet and bitter.

You look to Fenris, and he smiles at you, eyes sharp and cold in the light of the sun.

"You carry me to the end of the world," he murmurs, an echo of something that feels long passed, a truth you never thought would come.

“We find him,” you finish the thought for him, gripping Ferelden tightly as she answers your words with a roar. “We find the man who hurt you, and you _tear him apart._ ”

☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, we're now at the endgame. You can see there's now a finite chapter number up there, and it's locked in. Three more chapters of story, then an epilogue, and that's that.
> 
> There _will_ be a sequel to TDOTL, charting the story of this AU's Inquisitor. I'll talk about it more in the coming chapter notes, but I want you to be aware of it's existence now. If you want to, you can subscribe to the series this work is a part of, to keep on with me as this story continues and grows.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and sticking with me so far. I'm excited to have gone on this adventure with all of you, and I'm thrilled I get to see it to its close with so many great commenters and readers beside me.


	14. Of Ash and Marble (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins in a church with a verse and a man.

_These bonds of Ash, they bind me tight,_  
_They leave me gasping, choking-_  
_They close the doors, blot out the light,_  
_And leave me barely hoping-_  
_But though these bonds of Ash are thick,_  
_And though my body’s weary,_  
_I’ll struggle ‘till my body’s broke,_  
_And ‘till these bonds all fear me._

In the fields sits a church, humble and grey, no ward to mark it out, no whispers of anything but mortal power in its stone. Only the Call pulls you closer, a loud lie that rings in your ears, an invitation you have no reason to refuse. If Sebastian wishes to make a statement, you’ll let him; you know better than to still believe God is in these old, worn altars. A fool is the man who thinks a simple spire and cross will keep him from his demise.

You leave your steed behind with a promise and an apology, leave her standing with white mane caught in the breeze as thunder sounds on high. Haven gathers beside her, and they watch you with eyes that have seen too many battles, too many ends.

One more mark in an ancient ledger. One more fight come to a close, one way or another.

The door is white with peeling paint, and you offer it no quarter. One well-placed kick and the wood comes apart around your boot, clattering across the floor and into the pools of coloured light thrown down by the window before you, an image of angels gathered about the black shadow of a woman, hung up with arms outstretched.

“Now I watched when the Lamb broke one of the seven Seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as if with a voice of thunder, _Come!_ ”

Lightning crashes beyond the window, throws the girl’s shadow on the floor as she squirms and cries hoarsely through the black rope that binds her mouth and neck. Sebastian has his back to you below her, thick book parted open on the carved lectern before him and his fingers tracing the words he speaks, steady and slow.

“I looked, and behold, a white horse, and they who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to them, and they went out conquering, and to _Conquer._ ”

“Sebastian!” You try to move forward, but he shoves a hand back towards you, black mire catching at your legs and covering your mouth. It starts to shatter as you rage below it, but it drags you back, drags Varric to a wall and smashes Anders to the ground, and Fenris back against the door as the darkness seals it up.

“It’s funny,” Sebastian addresses the girl while you struggle, speaking jovially and light as he taps the page. “There is no bow, no, _I_ had the bow. And the Crown, goodness me, that wasn’t there at _all_ to begin with, that was someone else entirely. You humans love to muddle things, don’t you? Tell a story that you heard from someone else who heard from someone else… It makes it easy to drive you. _Love thy neighbour_ is forgotten, but all the things you can hate your neighbour for, why, they remain. It’s charming how desperate you all are for guidance, for a way to make your hatred someone else’s fault, to absolve yourself of all blame.”

She struggles, and he tuts, shaking his head. “Be calm, Orana. You’re going to be part of something _wonderful,_ something this world has needed for so long. Humanity has grown forgetful, and gluttonous on the spoils of peace, so greedy you have turned on each other and laid yourselves waste. We’re going to fix that. We’re going to fix _everything._ ”

“You’re insane!” Anders gets his mouth free first, voice booming with the spirit that cracks and burns against the oily binds. “You think you’re _helping_ them?”

“They need to _believe.”_ At last, Sebastian turns, and his eyes are cold but he is smiling, and his voice is still cheerful, like nothing is wrong. “Angels used to protect them because they _needed_ you, because they understood that Hell was waiting for them and only their faith and the protectors who answered it would keep them safe. They held you on high and the Lord on highest, and they knew their place in the workings of the universe, knew they were beneath the hand of Fate.”

“We were never there to control them!”

“Of course you were, stupid boy.” He laughs as he steps forward, lifting both hands and drawing a thicker wave of black filth to consume Anders entirely. “Your protection was paid for by their blood, and fear, and _obedience._ The church commanded them to act as was _best,_ and when they did as they _should,_ your kind were their reward. It was how it worked, and oh it worked _beautifully._ Everything had its place, every person their purpose, and the gears fit together just _so._ ”

You sever the black in your mouth with your teeth and force it back with a roar when it tries to spill together. Sebastian watches, smile growing thin, before he clenches his fist and drags it down, your body yanked to the ground with a resounding crack that leaves lights flashing in front of your eyes.

“ _You,_ Hawke, I had faith in you. I thought you would see, would _understand!”_ He sighs and moves his hand again, lifting you and slamming you down with a burst of pain across your temple and red splashing out over the floor. “I gave you so many chances, and for what? To watch you _forgive_ this _mockery_ of an Angel, corrupted and obsessed so visibly? To see you keep a Demon _with us,_ and in the same breath defend those who had closed the Gates? To watch you lead the others to forget our purpose, forget what had once been our _pride,_ to decide that stewing in this inaction was _right?_ ” He laughs, the shadows around his feet wetly following his steps as he advances towards you. “I could have forgiven Malcolm, and Tabris, for their foolishness. People are so often misguided, and it was my place to lead them back to the right path, to put them back in their place. But _you._ You didn’t know your place, didn’t know what this world was meant to be, did you? You thought that this- that _this_ was right. I had to do something, my dear friend. I couldn’t allow you all to slip so far from the path that we were meant for.”

“We were _free_ , Sebastian,” you cough, the metal taste of blood catching on your lips. “This wasn’t our path, not anymore.”

“It will _always_ be our path, Conquest. We were created with _Purpose,_ to carry out the work of God Himself! When the Hand and Voice moved as one, _we_ were the ones blessed with the burden, _we_ were the ones who carried His banner and His law.”

He stops before you, and lifts you, his teeth bared and no smile on his lips. You blink away the daze and bare bloody teeth in return, staring at him defiant as you can manage with your heart pounding loud in your ears.

“You think I am acting out of greed, don’t you? Think I am doing this for me?” He shakes his head, tightening his fingers as you feel the power around you constrict painfully and steal the air from your chest. “I am doing this for _us,_ for all of _them,_ because this world has forgotten what it means to be in the grace of God, and God has forgotten _them,_ too worried about a threat locked out of His reach to see his children are going to ruin. If I bring it back, if I let it loose, it can be destroyed, don’t you see? We can win, we can find our Victory, we can face Hell head on and _defeat it,_ just as God _intended_ us to!”

“Told you he likes to monologue,” Varric mutters hoarsely, and Sebastian’s eyes flick behind you, a pained grunt making your chest tighten.

“Leave them out of this!” You writhe, struggling against the pressure. “They have no part in any of this, Sebastian!”

“They made themselves a part of this, Hawke. Anders, poor Anders, who doesn’t _deserve_ the light that he made something _terrible._ Varric, sent by a Devil to undo us and still too blinded by you to act! And oh, _Fenris._ My, my.”

Rage stings hard in your heart as he says it, his lips unworthy of the name. You strike out, nearly break free from his grip- before it seizes you again, flooding your mouth once more.

"Calm yourself, Hawke. You know you cannot fight me, not like this. Perhaps if you were Awoken you could strike me down, but you are not, and nor am I; but my power is older than yours, not so wild, and when I am strong in my faith in turn I am _strengthened_." He smiles patiently, watching you struggle until you slump and catch your breath in ragged bursts through your nose. "You could be strong, if you only saw the power in duty. Call it our chains and you do it a disservice; it is purpose, Hawke. It is _fate_."

None of this is _fate_! You kick and scream but your limbs are bound and your voice is silenced, your body jerked roughly around like a puppet as Sebastian walks past and turns you to follow. You can see Varric and Anders both pushed back, down, their struggles fruitless, and between them Fenris is pressed to broken wood and black voids between it, the door remade behind him and his body stretched to mirror the girl above and behind on the glass. His mouth is covered, limbs shackled down, but his eyes are bright and fierce with vicious warning, more hatred in them as he stares at Sebastian than even you could muster.

"You know I intended you to meet him under different circumstances," Sebastian glances between you, brows furrowing with something you'd think was regret if you weren't being yanked around like a child's toy at his whim. "I had to make do with what I was given, and it went better than I hoped; until the last, of course. Taking the Crown? Stealing Haven? Things I would never have expected from the Abomination, let alone from this human."

Sebastian flicks his fingers, forcing Fenris' head to turn one way and then the other, and you fight to free yourself as you feel his focus shift and the bindings weaken. A little more- a little _more-_

Anders beats you, his wings spreading wide and burning up the black that held them before he surges towards Sebastian, eyes brilliant blue and staff flooding from his fingers to sing through the air behind him. It strikes Sebastian across the back before he can react, sending him tumbling and giving you enough strength to tear an arm free, then your other, golden fire burning down them and consuming the torrid darkness that held you in place.

"The girl!" Anders gestures back before he raises his staff again, the tip meeting the ground with a shower of sparks and a rush of ice that pins Sebastian down. You turn and run, looking to her as she shifts and cries out around the blackened rope in her mouth, something urgent, a warning-

" _Hawke!"_ Anders yells, and then the world flies sideways, the metal that crashed into you sending you flying to land in a painful mess of limbs and agony against dented stone that cracks and showers down around you. Everything spins and rings out of focus, before a hand seizes your throat, lifting you up, and up, to stare into Aveline's placid eyes, her sword rising to burn hot against your chest.

"Put the staff away, Anders," Sebastian murmurs, the Angel faltering as he looks between you and the man on the ground. "None of us want to see what happens if Hawke dies again, now, do we?"

"She's your _friend,_ " Anders replied coldly, but you see the light of his staff come apart, the motes barely faded before Sebastian has wrapped him in smothering ash and dragged him back to his knees. "How can you do this to her?"

"I'm doing what's _best,_ and one day she will see that. The righteous path is often difficult, and you must make sacrifices, I admit. The penitent man knows salvation comes only when he is willing to let go of anything that might halt his hand when God needs him to act." Sebastian brushes himself off as he stands, returning to the lectern as Aveline drags you up beside him, her grip unwavering and her fires burning bright no matter how dim and empty her gaze and mind remains.

"When He broke the second seal," Sebastian intones, his fingers leaving a creeping stain across the pages, an aged yellow that blossoms over the words and cracks the ink behind it. "I heard the second living creature saying, _come_. And another, a red horse, went out; and to them who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the Earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to them."

He laughs, gesturing to Aveline without looking. "See? That time they were right. The mightiest blade ever forged, still burning as bright as the day it was cast in the fires of the deepest circle. Many a war it has led, many a man it had felled, and in such worthy hands. She was always a good soldier, you know. I so wish she hadn't forgotten who she was meant to be fighting for."

"If this is meant to be convincing me to sign up to this noble cause of yours, it's not doing a very good job of it." You wheeze, the effort of talking using up far too much of your precious breath, but it gains his attention, vivid eyes do using up on you instead of the text before him. "Very showy, not much substance. Not your finest work."

He smiles, and it seems genuine, something familiar about it that takes you back to before all this started. It's painful to think he might've stood beside you, once. You wonder how long he's been against you, and hiding it behind his laughter and false loyalty.

"I thought you might want something more. What good is a speech without something to really catch you?" He moves his fingers and the puppet strings shift, Aveline lowering you to the ground, though she keeps her blade tight across you. Another motion and the binds holding Fenris have thrown him forward, leading him down the aisle in jerky, unnatural motions, until he's stood stiffly at the altar, Sebastian above him and looking down with a thoughtful frown tugging at his lips.

"Here, then. This human of yours, he is owed a debt." Sebastian turns to the book, chuckling softly. "It was a joke, you know? I thought it was the sort of thing you'd enjoy, Hawke. A terrible man does a terrible thing, and seals his fate, but still... He never seemed to realise why I thought his name was wonderful."

He lifts his hands like a conductor gathering the attention of an orchestra, and somewhere distant, below, you hear pleading, a scream than has Fenris shaking and his eyes gone wide. Sebastian hums, and shadows gather, rise, more dainty than the horrid things that hold your friends in place; these shadows you know, like you know the cold that follows them, and the pale hands that form first from them, to draw out the haggard figure of a man from their depths.

Merrill rises and blocks the path to the door as the man stumbles, falls- and though you do not know him, you know the twist of fury in Fenris' eyes, and that names him.

"Please-" Danarius babbles, and there's a madness in his words. "Please, we made a deal-"

"When He broke the third seal," Sebastian reads, ignoring the words of the old man who grasps at his leg like a beggar seeking coin, "I heard the third living creature saying, _come_.”

He raises his hand and Danarius is forced up, to kneel more proudly that you think his back can manage, his spine cracking and pain flaring across his faded features.

"I looked, and behold, a black horse;" Sebastian raises himself to his full height, and the black darkness about his feet turns to flame that burns like the moonless night, gathering around him as his voice gains a song behind it, alluring and sweet. His jacket turns red, and purple, and gold, and spills down like the fine coat of a King, all elegant and fine and soaked with the smell of blood. He lifts a hand, and the black fire licks and spits and then comes together to a knife, ornate and sparkling with rubies and diamonds in its hilt, held carefully between his fingers. "And they who sat on it had a pair of scales in their hand."

"No, no," Danarius tries to shift back, but the shadows have him, both the icy warning of Merrill's absent touch at his back and the burning black of Sebastian as Oppression turns to him, noble and terrible, handsome and horrifying, and smiles with perfect teeth between black lips, beneath blue eyes.

"And I heard something like a voice in the center of the four living creatures saying, _a quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius; and do not damage the oil and the wine._ ” Sebastian laughs, a sound like bells ringing in chorus, looking to you as he twirls the knife between his hands. "Denarius, _Danarius_ , I thought it was a hoot. Not even going to laugh a little, Hawke? Well aren't you just miserable today."

You grit your teeth and hold in your words, don't give him the satisfaction of an answer. Sebastian wrinkles his nose at that, and looks away, to Fenris, smile returning as he gazes upon the look of murderous malice that has Fenris' face twisted and his eyes focused unwaveringly down on the body knelt unwilling at his feet.

"I ask nothing for this Danarius," Sebastian says softly, spinning the knife until the blade is in his grip and the handle is outstretched, the bonds on Fenris loosening enough his body slumps forward into a natural, tense stance. "Consider him an apology for any wrongs I have done to you in this endeavour."

"Fenris, don't-" You start, but Aveline's fingers are across your mouth with barely a twitch from Sebastian, and Merrill's icy presence soaks up whatever sounds manage to leave Anders and Varric. You watch Fenris look from Danarius to the knife, watch something struggle in his gaze, before he seizes the handle and drags the blade back, Sebastian's smile splitting broad and delighted.

"When the Lamb broke the fourth seal," He practically sings it, Danarius' head ripped back to bare his throat to the sky and reducing his pleading to a barely audible wheeze of Fenris' name. "I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, _come_.”

Fenris looks like he might stop, might strike Sebastian, but then something breaks in his face and you watch him grab Danarius' hair, raising the knife and bringing it down in a furious stab that's barely struck the man's chest before it lifts again with a vicious spray. "I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and they who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with them."

Fenris strikes again, and again, and the scream each one draws grows wetter, weaker, blood leaving bright stains over sunken cheeks as Danarius chokes and drowns in every drop of anger Fenris pours into him, every frenzied motion, until Danarius is still and quiet and the knife clatters onto the tiles, Fenris' shoulders shaking and his body devoid of any of the strength that held him together. Danarius drops, crumples into a pile, and the whole thing seems sudden, abrupt, thoughtless. Fenris looks no happier, shows no relief.

He just stands, eyes dulled and head down, and watches everything he hated spill out over the stone.

The blood stops spreading, shivers in place, and then Danarius' body convulses as every last ounce of blood is ripped from it, the red rivers dancing through the air and coming together into a blade that frosts over with feathery ice the moment it settles in Merrill's outstretched hand. The red blackens, sours as she sets the tip to the ground, and the pallid body it came from is raised by her shadows, torn apart in a bloodless rush and then swallowed up entirely, as if he was never there, never existed at all.

"Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with _death,"_ Sebastian laughs again, too sweet, too easy, not bothering to hold Fenris again as he throws a pitying glance towards Fenris' defeated looking face, finishing softly, _"_ and by the wild beasts of the Earth."

"You've made your point," you mutter, as Aveline's hand drops. "Whatever it was meant to be."

"Vengeance is unsatisfying," he explains, turning to look at you instead of continuing to gaze at Fenris like he's expecting your love to break down at any moment. "It brings only death and despair; but, in the same instant, the cruel and wicked shall get what they deserve. A graceless end, and then... _nothing_. For they will be forgotten, and the good and the noble shall remain."

He sighs, ignoring Fenris stoop and take the knife back in his hand, knuckles white and eyes downcast.

"He could have been lenient, he could have forgiven, but he did not." Sebastian shrugs his shoulders, the gems and fine threads across them all sparkling with the colours of the stained glass behind him. "I expected no better. He is only human, after all."

"You made a mistake."

Sebastian blinks, then turns to look at Fenris, who gathers himself and looks up, eyes catching the colours and reflecting each sparkling stone like a sky of stars.

"You made a mistake," Fenris repeats, raising the knife to point at Sebastian, his hand calm and steady.

"I don't make _mistakes_ ," Sebastian answers coldly, his brief good humour vanishing. "That knife won't harm me, the only flesh it could cut was his. Put it down and be quiet, you had your chance to join me, to be a part of this, I tried to show you the Light and you refused it."

"When you tried to tell me God saved me?"

"God has a plan for you," Sebastian says certainly, offering a hand for the blade.

"What is the girl for?" Fenris steps back, out of reach, and Sebastian sighs, rubbing his temples. " _Answer me._ "

"Or what? You'll brood in my direction?" He snorts. "Success requires sacrifice. She is here because I require her to be, and soon she will no longer be required, because I will have what I want."

"You're going to kill her?"

Sebastian's face grows hard. "Give me the knife, Fenris."

"You made a mistake."

"You keep _saying that!"_ Sebastian's voice cracks, the music going flat, and the same age that withered the bible he touched spreads down the lectern and rots the wood, cracks the stone beneath his feet. " _What?_ What _mistake,_ boy?"

Fenris takes another step, into a wider space in the aisle, away from Sebastian's towering form, and you realise a moment before the lines across him glow blinding white, making Merrill and Sebastian recoil as they flourish into great wings spread wide between the pews and pillars, Fenris a glowing ghost between them with the knife still clutched in his bright hands.

" _I'm not human,"_ Fenris says, and before Sebastian can react he's up, pressing up into the rafters before he dives for the glass and the body pressed against it.

Sebastian roars and throws the lectern aside, the pages of the book upon it coming loose and scattering as a crack rushes up to the window and the glass shatters all as one, Fenris dragging the girl towards him and sheltering her from the shards as he beats his wings once and keeps them both aloft.

"You don't know what you're doing," Sebastian warns him, voice rich and cold, and Fenris raises the knife as you seize the moment of distraction to force yourself free from Aveline, hurrying away as she drowsily swipes after you, too deep in his control to function alone.

Fenris brings the knife to the dark rope, holding the girl tightly as she struggles to turn her face away, crying out something that's muffled and lost in the coarse hemp. Sebastian is- _staring_ , not _moving_ , and you look between him and Fenris as you rush forward to grasp him, words buzzing on your tongue that you've forgotten, you've _forgotten-_

The knife slices through the rope, the gag coming apart and her voice finally freed.

"- _Black rope!"_

Black rope.

The pain behind your eyes gives way.

"Oh God-" You manage, before the rope goes white and light explodes out from it, knocking you from your feet and sending Aveline and Merrill tumbling back into white beside you, the world a rush of noise and power that drowns out your cry and presses you down against the stones as they buckle and break beneath you. The floor is shattering, the pillars that held up the roof coming apart and crashing down around you, before everything stops, the world draws in breath-

-And then it all implodes, the building blasted away around you and leaving no sound, no movement, and nothing but Sebastian, standing with his arms outstretched and his skin bright like marble cut through with veins of ash.

He is laughing, you realise, as sound slips back and your sense return.

He is laughing as he steps forward, lifting Fenris from the crumpled pile the Angel had ended up in on the floor, wings cracked and fading as they fall limp behind him.

Sebastian smiles, and he speaks with all the weight of the universe behind his every word.

"I told you, Fenris. I _don't. Make. Mistakes."_

☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, then. I hope this lives up to your expectations.
> 
> I was going to hold off slightly longer with this, but I really wanted to get this chapter up and out, not just because I like leaving you all on cliffhangers.
> 
> Just... _mainly_ that.


	15. Of Ash and Marble (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It ends with a choice that was never a choice at all.

_The chains of Marble softer seem,_  
_But do not treat them gently-_  
_For they will wrap around your dream,_  
_And leave you broke and empty-_  
_The chains of Marble are a curse,_  
_But tear them not asunder,_  
_For break them and you break a heart,_  
_Leave only fire and thunder._

Fenris doesn’t move.

There’s no twitch of his fingers or twist to his slack face, nothing but the slow unwinding of his wings as they collapse into nothing behind him. Without them, he looks fragile and small in Sebastian’s grip, dull and faded behind the dust and blood that cover his face. He looks just as human as he did the first time you saw him; just as easily broken, just as easily forgotten.

Why isn’t he _moving?_

“Fenris!” You drag yourself up and catch Sebastian’s attention, his eyes sweeping back to you with an intense light that leaves you blinded. You stumble forward anyway, strike out at where you think he is, and hear him sigh as your vision clears just in time for Sebastian to pluck you from the ground with ease, holding you up and curling his lip at you.

“You couldn’t harm me before, Hawke. You certainly can’t _now._ ” He throws you carelessly away, and you crash into the pews, wooden seats splintering beneath you. “Be a good child and _stay_ down, won’t you? You don’t have to get hurt.”

You feel fresh, heated wetness in your hair, touching it and bringing back a bloody hand that slips when you grasp the closest unbroken pew and force yourself up, stumbling a little as you fight to silence the ringing in your ears. Someone is telling you to stop- Anders, maybe, but it’s distant, lost behind the sound and the numbness.

Sebastian watches you stagger over the wreckage and then charge for him, but the world turns on its head when he simply leans down and sweeps his arm into your gut, flinging you across what remains of the church. You tumble painfully through what used to be a window and bounce across the charred grass, neck whipping back each time until you end up in a pile and pant harshly, sinking your fingers into the ash and soil and trying to force yourself up.

With a rush of fetid air and the smell of incense so strong it burns your nose, Sebastian is beside you, his foot pressing to your head and forcing it back into the blackened dirt.

“I should have known you were misguided,” he tells you, words dripping with pity. “How could you not be? Your father filled your head with dreams and others were quicker to chase after your distractions than to stop you and show you what was _real._ I should have intervened sooner, my friend, and I am sorry I did not. You could have been saved. You could have _understood._ ”

“You’re _crazy!_ ” You answer succinctly, ignoring the taste of soil on your lips. He sighs, boot grinding your cheek further into the earth.

“Humanity has lost its faith, denial spread from blindness, but how could _you?_ You _know_ the truth of it all, Hawke. You have seen the gates of Hell and you have felt the might of Heaven, and _still…_ Still you fight for a freedom you cannot possibly believe in.” Sebastian lets you push yourself up enough he can kick you onto your back, stamping down on your chest instead to pin you down as you gasp for air. “I thought you could grasp it alone. We are not _barred_ in some cruel _prison_ as a punishment, we are kept in _His house_ , cared for and safe from those who would corrupt us. He gives us the most noble of purpose, the heaviest of worthy burdens, and it is an honour granted to the most beloved of His children! Yet you would deny it? You would bite the very hand that _created_ us?”

“If you- _care_ so much, why didn’t you stop them _then?_ ” You shove at his leg, ignoring the ache in your body as it twists. “When they Charged on Hell you stood by and let them, you didn’t stand up to them.”

“I know. I _know_ , I stood by, and I-” His voice tremors, fear licking at the edges of his certain tones. “I made a mistake, one greater than I could have imagined. I allowed them to ruin everything we had, to spit in the face of God, and I can only hope that this is enough of a penitence that He might find it in Himself to forgive me.”

Sebastian slowly focuses on you, and shakes his head, lowering Fenris to the ground and letting him fall, limp and still. Your heart drums frantically as you search for signs of awareness, waking, life- and find nothing, nothing but pallid cheeks and loose limbs, bloody tears in his clothes covered by your intact jacket when it falls closed across them.

“...But I am not selfish. I was, once, I almost lost the way before, and it was _you_ who led me back to it, remember? It was _you_ who gave me faith when I was faithless.” Sebastian smiles, but it looks like it was cut from a different face, a different time, and forced onto him like a mask. “Never let it be said I forget such kindness; I would not seek forgiveness alone, no, no. You will be forgiven beside me, even after all they did, even after the dark stain your father left upon your heart. My faith tells me I must love others, be willing to sacrifice anything for God’s plan- and my heart is willing. I will do what I must to bring the Lord his flock and save _all_ of you.”

“I won’t help you!” You shove at him again, struggle to force him away, and Sebastian sighs, low and sad.

“Of course you won’t. But you _will_ fight me, won’t you? For their sake. For everyone’s sake. That’s what you are, after all, Hawke, you’re the _hero._ And heroes do whatever it takes to put the villains in their place.”

He leans down, closer to you, resting his arm across his bent knee as more of his weight presses down inescapably on your chest.

“I understand how your life works, Hawke. It’s a thing of contrast, of what is _right_ and what is _wrong_ , clear choices for you to make that leave no room for something between them. I _understand,_ I know you would never agree with me, not entirely- and if you don’t entirely agree, then of course, you must put an end to this, mustn’t you? Put an end to all I have done and tell yourself it was the right thing to do, the good choice, the hero’s path.” Sebastian hums, a discordant thing that sounds like a hymn with half the notes forgotten. “What is a holy war without its martyrs? What is Conquest without clear allies and enemies? Here is your choice, then, Hawke.”

He steps back, and your sit shakily, crawling to Fenris and dragging him close as you splay your fingers across his chest and feel for a beat, leaning down to rest your cheek above his parted lips.

 _Breath._ Breath, shallow but _there._

_He isn’t dead._

“Leave me unopposed,” Sebastian continues, once your shoulders slump with relief and you lift your head, “and I will march to Hell and break the Seal upon the Gates myself, no matter what I have to do to get there. I expect many people will die trying to stop me, Angels and humans and heroes who have no hope against my might; all worthy deaths for a necessary cause. I shall not let conscience sway me, for the souls of those I must kill will be welcome by Heaven, and the Lord will have no choice but to return to His children once my great work is done and the Legion is upon them. Without Him they would be lambs to a slaughter, but with Him, with _us,_ and with all those who remains worthy and righteous, the Legion will be defeated and Hell will be purged, and God shall have no fear to keep Him from guiding those who live. All will be forgiven, and the battle finally won, through _action,_ not through locking the threat away.”

“I won’t let you use this place and these people as some _beacon_ for _attention!_ ” You _can’t,_ so many people would try to stop him, the Warden would rally an army to end his blight and he would see all of them dead or dying, convinced he had no choice, so certain of his _faith._ “This _isn’t_ His plan, it _can’t_ be, I won’t let you use so many lives to try and clear yourself of imagined blame!”

“Of course you won’t. Which leaves us option _two,_ doesn’t it?”

He raises his fingers and black fire spreads from them again, though this time it does not draw into a blade. It winds together across both his hands, and settles into a shotgun, a black mockery of the same one Fenris carries and so blunt in its intention that it makes you sick to your stomach.

_When the moment arrives-_

“No.” You say thickly. You _knew,_ you knew, from the moment she said it you understood, but you told yourself you didn’t, clung to denial and ignorance. “I won’t.”

“Hawke, you know you have to.” Sebastian doesn’t smile, but speaks like he’s reassuring the child he sees you to be. “You always had to. Any of us _could_ have done it, and I’m sure I could have avoided a lot of trouble if I’d simply done it myself; but no, this is something _you_ have to do, to purge all that was done in your family name, to save yourself by your own hands.”

“Why would I break the Ward?” It’s weak, but you try to make it stronger, to put in hatred you can’t make surface through the misery and fear.

“Because he’s going to die, one way or another.” The shotgun is held towards you, patiently, steady. “Isn’t it better to give his end some meaning?”

“Not if itjust helps _you._ ”

There’s a pause before Sebastian lowers the gun, looking at you oddly. For a moment he’s frowning, doubtful, before suddenly he laughs, incredulous.

“You… really don’t _know_ , do you?”

“Know _what?_ ” You spit back, and he shakes his head, straightening and beckoning over his shoulder. The last remains of a wall are forced aside by a wave of oily black, and then Anders is thrown to the ground beside him, Varric tumbling onto him a moment later. Your relief at the sight of them is plagued by worry at the expression on Sebastian’s face. What should you know?

_What has he done?_

Anders pushes himself up first, and though he considers Sebastian, you see the warning spark of Justice in his eyes, probably reminding him he’s no use to any of you dead. Instead, he moves cautiously around to you, crouching and looking Fenris over before he lays his palms across him and lights him up with blue, knitting his skin and bones back together. Each breath Fenris draws is easier, clearer, until his eyes flutter without opening, your heart fluttering with them.

“Of course you wouldn’t open the Ward for nothing,” Sebastian says abruptly, snapping your attention back from the colour that’s rushing back into Fenris’ face. “I’m not a fool. I knew you wouldn’t _want_ to, but that you _needed_ to- Don’t you see? When all this started, you weren’t meant to _know_ him. It was going to be a kindness, really, this poor slave who couldn’t be saved, who you could put out of his misery. You would be the hero, like you love to be, and the Ward would come undone. All three, you see, Heaven and Earth and us beside them? An Angel forged by the hands of man, not wilful enough to fight what was necessary, a thoughtless human wrapped around him, and you the Horseman to finish it! It was _perfect._ No one who mattered had to suffer! Even the shell was dead inside, long before he was sacrificed.”

“I would have tried to save him!” You interrupt, but it does little but make Sebastian laugh. Anders mutters something foul, as Varric finishes limping over and presses a hand to your shoulder, a tight anchor to reality.

“He wasn’t meant to _be_ anyone, though, isn’t it strange? There was nothing _there._ We made an Angel like one might make a doll out of corpses. It had all the right parts but none of the _spark,_ and it should have been just as easily posed and played with, and just as easily put back into the grave. Instead- Instead it _thought!_ It thought and fought and Danarius- fool of a man, easily swayed but easily thwarted- he let everything I worked for just _run away!_ ” Sebastian snorts. “I should have known better than to trust anyone else with it. All the time I spent threading the Call into your thoughts, making all of you think the Seals _had_ to be broken. It was _flawless!_ And yet somehow, flawed it became.”

He looks down, eyes brilliant again, scouring the ash around you from the ground as they sweep over it and up to Fenris’ face. You look down with them, and find Fenris’ eyes open, looking back with something bitter boiling in his gaze.

“I was worried, you know? I thought all I had done would be wasted. We’d gone through so many vessels and none of them had survived having the Ward branded into their skin- weak creatures, humans, awful and frail, see why they need His protection? See why I cannot let them keep stumbling wild?” You aren’t sure if Sebastian is imploring to you or Fenris anymore, but it twists your stomach into knots to think this wasn’t the first time, that others _failed,_ and others have already died _._

“Danarius had one, though, his _favourite._ ”Sebastian gestures to Fenris, who flinches back, gaze moving to look up at you instead.“That one was different. He _offered_ himself, when the opportunity came. Some shallow deal he made, to free others from their lives of meaning and focus, to be left wandering pointlessly with nothing instead, as though that was _better._ Still- the deal was made, and he came to be branded, and this one, this one _survived!_ ”

“...Do you think he’ll remember,” Fenris murmurs like it means something, and Sebastian claps his hands together.

“Yes, _yes,_ he was _so_ worried that somehow you’d remember all that there was before, all that your shell had been. But you didn’t simply reside within the body, you burned it out, destroyed whatever was there! You couldn’t remember what didn’t exist, could you?” Sebastian sounds so- so _pleased_ with himself, and you feel as ill as Fenris looks, Anders hands glowing brighter as they struggle to force out the pallidness that’s taken root in his skin. “And yet, still, somehow… you _thought,_ more than what we put into your mind, more than ever should have been. You became _someone_ when you should have stayed some _thing,_ and left my plan for heroic sacrifice in _tatters._ ”

“And then I came back,” Fenris says softly, smiling mirthlessly at you as he reaches up and touches your cheek. You cup your hand over his and squeeze it, wondering when he got so cold, when the heat you’d grown used to faded from his fingertips.

“That wasn’t my doing,” Sebastian explains thoughtfully. “Perhaps Fate understood my plans and aided me, in her own way? Perhaps it really was coincidence. But yes, the Lord smiled upon me and with a bloody halo to herald your coming, there you were, returned to me and… different, certainly, but no less ready for your destiny.”

“So what was the plan then?” You force the words through your grit teeth, curling your fingers around Fenris’ palm and bringing it to your lips, planting a small kiss there like you might soothe this all way. “Control me into killing him?”

“Of course not. I didn’t want to control _anyone,_ that was just… an unfortunate necessity, when things grew out of hand. My plan was-” He pauses, then chuckles, spreading his hands. “I may as well fuel those fires, hm? Make you hate me a little more? That will make all this easier. I was going to do all that I did, the noises in your mind, the trickery, and then let you figure it out but blame him for it. It would have been easy to convince you he was an agent of Heaven! After all, even _he_ wouldn’t have known for sure if it was true. Rage is easy to fan into an inferno, and when you were _alight_ with it- I’m sure convincing you to strike without thought would have taken more of a light nudge than a push. He would have died the same, and once more, all would have been right.”

“But-”

“Yes, yes, _but,_ of course _but.”_ He sighs, the first sound hinting at irritation he’s made since he began explaining. You don’t understand why he’s bothering, it’s only making you more determined to stop this, to stop _him,_ and that seems pointless! Doesn’t it? “ _But_ he grew _too_ aware, you _all_ did, and things might still have worked the same if there hadn’t been some interference from- who was it? The Warden? Her accursed Fallen? _One of them._ And his vessel was destroyed, I can feel it, I can feel everything I worked to make right has been made into a _mess._ Well no matter. All messes can be fixed. If I must be the tinder that relights this cold hearth, so be it. I will burn proudly, knowing how noble the pyre I have set sparking will be.”

“You’re so full of _shit,_ ” Anders snaps suddenly, getting to his feet. Sebastian’s smile drops, lips curling in its place, his eyes paling warningly as Anders’ cheeks shatter in a furious reply. “Do you really _believe_ everything that comes out of your mouth? Oh so _noble_ and _mighty_ and _righteous,_ he who stamps out lives like they mean _nothing_ just because they aren’t the ones he cares about!”

“ _You’re one to talk.”_ Sebastian's voice booms, and he clears his throat with a settling shake of his head as the echoes fade. “No- I won’t let you do this, not now. You’ll have your part in this, Abomination.”

“ _Abomination?”_ It shakes the ground, earth coming apart around Anders’ feet as the veins of light across him grow broader and sharper, his voice dropping to a rumble and his hands curled into fists so tight you’d swear his nails will draw blood. You aren’t even sure if Justice is in control or if it’s both of them, now, a mess that’s muddled together into something new and terrible. “You would call _me_ Abomination, when you stand ready to destroy everything in pursuit of a fool’s goal? You would call _me_ Abomination, with fresh blood on your hands and more innocents standing by with your knife to their necks? Good intentions in wicked hands lead only to darkness and to corruption, but good intentions in the hands of the vengeful lead straight to their damnation!”

“I am not wicked, nor-”

“You seek vengeance for what was done by those stronger than you in their convictions! You do not just seek false _forgiveness,_ you seek to besmirch them and have the hand that bears their blood and title be the one to grant you your fool’s salvation, so that you may sneer up on high and laugh to see their work destroyed by the one who carried their legacy!” Anders draws himself up, spreading his wings as the shattered pieces lock together, each tile in a mosaic that floods outwards and blocks Sebastian from view. “You want Vengeance, no matter how you speak of it with such distaste. I _know,_ Horseman. I am _here,_ and I cannot stop your hand but I can _see_ what lies in the heart that drives it!”

“ _How dare you!”_ Sebastian’s voice shakes as he speaks, with a fury deeper than anything he’d let slip through his mask until now. You almost wish you could see his face- a sight it must be, and he deserves to suffer _somehow,_ after everything-

You’re distracted when Fenris moves, pushing himself up from your lap with strength you didn’t think he still _had,_ his motions quick and easy as he gestures for you to be quiet and then pushes forward enough to start digging his hands into the ground. You can barely see the curve he leaves behind his fingers as he drags them, but he’s intent on it, barely flinching when Anders roars and his wings move forward, Sebastian cursing back in reply.

You still can’t see Sebastian, to know what he’s doing-

-which means _he_ can’t see _you._

Fenris is marking the ground quickly, and you catch up, your rattled mind understanding and starting to mark the other way. You meet in the middle and Fenris grasps your wrist when you go to finish the ward, shaking his head and squeezing your hand tightly as his slips down to hold it.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, searching your eyes for something. “Not yet.”

Fenris holds onto you for a long moment, then stands, letting your hand slip from his grip as he turns and faces the Angel, or whatever Anders has become, and the unseen Rider beyond him. He’s careful, placing his feet in the center of the unfinished ward, before he raises his voice.

“ _Enough._ ”

Anders turns, and you see the quick flick of his eyes to the ground, before he steps forward, the light unwinding and leaving him plain as he grasps Fenris’ shoulder, stepping close to him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, an echo of something that seems to be from long ago.

Fenris sets his jaw and nods, but says nothing, not until Anders moves aside- carefully, carefully, not too far to break the line- and Sebastian is the one staring at him, having regained some composure.

“Hawke,” Fenris says gently, without looking at you or reaching for you or all the things you wish he would do, some contact to remind you it will be okay, you’ll get through this, that somehow you’ll win. You always do, in the end, and you promised yourself, promised _him,_ that you’d find a way to save him! You’d get through this _together._

“Hawke,” he repeats, and you shake your head, refusing to hear the unspoken request that lingers in the hitch behind his words.

“Listen to him.” Sebastian doesn’t grandstand now, doesn’t preach. Anders’ fury has drained something from his face, and when you move to grab Fenris he bares his teeth, only calming when Varric pulls you back, puts some distance between the two of you. You don’t _want_ to be apart from him, you don’t want to be anywhere but between them, keeping Fenris safe, that’s all you wanted and you can feel it slipping away. “Don’t be a fool, Hawke. The only reason you love him is because I needed to know that when I set him up as your great betrayer, you would be hurt enough to _act_. Don’t think it _means_ anything. I did that, just like the rest. I made a man of straw and wedded you together, and none of it was anything but part of a plan that leads to this.”

“I won’t hurt him,” you repeat again, and even you can hear the scratches that make you skip like a broken record. “I- I won’t do this, I won’t-”

“You will, Hawke. It’s just a matter of how many people you let die before you give in.”

You lunge for Sebastian and he lets you, lets you reach him before he throws you back. Again you force yourself up and try, and again you crash back into the dirt, the ringing in your ears dimming Varric telling you to stop, dimming Fenris telling you it’s alright, it’s _alright,_ don’t hurt yourself anymore than you have-

But it’s _not_ alright, _nothing_ is alright, and you throw yourself forward again with a storm flashing in your eyes, but all it takes is a sigh and a sweep of his hand and Sebastian has you back on the ground, spitting blood out as you try to breathe again.

You know you could strike him down in one blow if you weren’t weakened, you know you could stop all of this in an _instant,_ and that rage and disappointment is foul in your throat as you stagger up again and let him throw you back one more time, crying out when your already bloodied head cracks painfully against the dirt.

“This is getting us nowhere,” he mutters, snapping his fingers. The fragments of the world that slide separate before your eyes come together into a fuzzy image as you sit up, Varric’s hands roughly on your shoulders and stopping you running forward pointlessly again. Sebastian watches over his shoulder as Aveline climbs through the ruins and moves to stand beside him, the shadows at his feet turning gossamer before Merrill straightens from them, sword still hanging loose in her hand.

“I tried reason, even if you refuse to see it.” Sebastian holds out his hand, and Merrill draws the shadows up around her, close like the darkness she drew Danarius from within. “Again, it’s always the practical demonstrations that you pay attention to, isn’t it? Such a shame.”

Merrill reaches, and Sebastian throws the gun, which bounces down in front of you and slides to a stop in front of your hands, your face reflecting back at you in the black. You curl your fingers away from it, and turn your gaze back up to them in time to see Merrill pull Isabela from the dark, the Demon’s arms bound together behind her back.

No.

_No._

“ _No!_ ”

Varric doesn’t move fast enough to stop you, and Sebastian rolls his eyes, not bothering to let you get near before a wave of oil slams into you and forces you away. You end up sprawled next to the gun again, the thing mocking you silently as you shove it away and struggle against the thick shadows that are keeping you back. Sebastian grasps the ropes and pulls Isabela over to him, tutting as he watches you fight.

“I was afraid you might think you could run, that you could do something idiotic and evasive as though it was noble, so I had to keep some insurance.” He looks Isabela over, lips thin. “I think it’s practically a _kindness_ to send this one back where she belongs, and soon enough the Gates will be open, one way or another.”

Isabela’s response is to spit at his face, kicking backwards at his legs. He holds her still as he wipes his cheek, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“You could stop this, Hawke,” he reminds you, gesturing his free hand back at Aveline. She halts in her motions, struggles in place, before he gestures again and she slumps back into the puppet strings, drawing one of Varric’s bottles from her belt and placing it in Sebastian’s hands. “Do you think Holy water is painful? It looks _terrible._ ”

“You’re better than this!” You’re pleading, can’t think of anything else to do. He laughs ruefully.

“Am I? I think I used to be. But mercy doesn’t always get things done, does it? Mercy is why I stood aside, when I should have been strong.” He shakes the bottle, watching the water catch the light and glisten with it. “Should I show mercy to a Demon, Hawke? You seem to think they’re more than they are, just like so many others, blinded by their smiles. So many people have died at their hands. How many more, before people understand they are not worth saving? That there is nothing in them to save?”

“You’re going to kill-!”

“A _fraction_ of the number who have fallen to the Legion, and all of them those who _understand_ what it is they perish for, or will soon enough.” He grits his teeth, drawing in a calming breath to quiet his raising voice. “You want to tell me this one hasn’t killed anyone? _Yet._ It’s only a matter of time, it’s in their _nature._ Without control they fall to the corruption that was always within them, and you have _seen_ what they will do to gain power, Hawke! You have _seen_ how they turn men on themselves, how they use your own mind to make _you_ turn on those you care for!”

“ _Sounds familiar,”_ you snarl back, and he stops sharply, face colouring amongst the marble and ash.

“This- is _different,_ this is _not-_ My purpose is not just power, not just death-” He stammers into silence, then shakes his head, dragging Isabela close and pressing the bottle to her chest. “ _Enough!_ You will not make me falter, not _now._ If you wish to strike at me, then you know what you must do.”

“You expect me to _trust you?_ To kill Fen- To kill _him,_ and just trust you’ll stop when I do?”

“ _No!_ I expect _you_ tostop me,when you are _strong enough_. I am _giving you_ what you need, how are you still not _seeing_ that? The Gate will open regardless, but this way you will have the power to stand up and protect them once it does, isn’t that what you _want?_ ”

He draws in a breath and gestures at you with the bottle, face falling back to a deathly stillness that’s unnatural and wrong.

“You have _nothing_ , Hawke. They will all die, and you will do _nothing_ but stand by and let them. He will die _regardless,_ and nothing will come of his end, not even the purpose he was made for. If you kill him by your own hand, if you do what was always _meant_ to be done, then you will have a _chance,_ and he will not have died for nothing. Isn’t that better?”

The bottle is pushed back against Isabela, and though she stays defiant, you see the fear that flashes in her eyes, too raw to force away. You don’t understand- Or you do, and you refuse to listen, refuse to let the words form in your mind. You can’t do this. You can’t _do this._

And then, in the end, you don’t have to.

“It’s why the Ward is stronger,” Fenris explains gently, words falling into place in your mind, tugging out what you already knew and never let surface. “Why it was familiar to you even when you couldn’t remember the Ward at all. They needed a way to make sure you’d open it, and all his work was to make you think you _had_ to open all of the Seals, to make you think that that was more important than anything else.”

“Stop,” you croak, forcing your hands over your ears, but Varric pulls them gently down, murmurs something you don’t want to hear.

“I-” Fenris sighs. “I knew, before they told me. The moment Alistair showed me all of them, I knew.” He laughs softly, looking down at his hands, the lines that split the backs of them into pieces. “These are my chains, all marble-white. I’m the last Seal, and he’s… He’s right. If my death is going to mean anything, I have to be broken, like the rest.”

“I’m not going to do this!” You force yourself up and back away, before black shoves you forward, back towards them. No, _no,_ anything, anything, but not _this._

“Hawke, please, I can’t- I can’t do it myself, and-” Fenris looks at you, imploring, and you want to tell yourself it’s Sebastian doing this, controlling him, making him speak, but his eyes are vivid again, vivid and desperate and full of everything you came to adore in him, all wrapped up in pain and purpose and something _else_ you can’t place. “You have to _trust me._ This is the only way to end this.”

“It’s not,” you answer, childish upset filling you as your eyes blur. You’ve done so much, you’ve killed so many people because you had to, but here and now you _can’t._ This isn’t the same as striking down a demon, or putting a bullet in a thug, this is _Fenris,_ and all you can think of is your mother in your arms, promising you it’d be better once you let her go, lying to you that it would be better that way.

It wasn’t.

_It wasn’t._

“This is getting us nowhere,” Sebastian sighs, and your gaze snaps to him as you hear the glass creaking, straining beneath his fingers when they grow tight. Isabela is tense, but her face is calm, and her eyes are closed, despite how white her knuckles and lips have gone with the worry that keeps them both taught. “Hawke, this is an easy choice. I don’t revel in forcing it on you, you know? But I can’t let this state of things continue. I can’t let you think it better to side with Demons and traitors than with the light, and I _will_ do what I must to cleanse you- to cleanse _all_ of them.”

“Sebastian, stop this,” you try one last time, raising your hands towards him. “These are your friends, this is our _home._ Please, you can’t really care more for some cause than for all of this?”

“Heaven gave me _everything,_ Hawke. It gave me _life,_ and _purpose,_ and a _family._ Your father and the Warden _took that from me,_ from _all of us,_ because they were afraid to fight for what mattered, they would rather attack innocents and lock the real evil away so they could hide behind their lovers and claim they had a right to anything but what they were always meant for!” The glass is cracking, his teeth bared as he holds your gaze. “I would lead an army on this world myself to put pay to all those who would _defend_ the lives of Demons and set fire to the house of God!”

“ _Sebastian-”_

“Why can none of you see? I _trusted you_ to understand! How can you stand with _them_ over _me?”_

You see the wildness in his eyes and try to lunge for him, but Aveline’s sword is slammed between you as he looks to Isabela and his face grows set.

“Then do this for them, Hawke,” he mutters, “before there are none of them left.”

“ _No-!_ ”

He clenches his fist tightly and the glass explodes, shards scattering as water bursts forth and cascades across his fingers, pure and glittering and bright. Isabela doesn’t make a sound- she can’t, you think, she _can’t-_ but her eyes open, and they are screaming, screaming as the water splashes over her face and chest and the skin and cloth it touches start to crumble into ash, glowing with embers deep inside. The world is silent but for a scream in your ears, and you’re pushing past Aveline but you aren’t fast enough, everything is too _slow,_ as Sebastian lets go and Isabela crumples to the ground, her body shaking as the illusion comes apart and her wine-red skin starts to be broken by grey veins.

No, no-

You’ve seen a Demon banished before, but this is worse, this isn’t some faceless Pride, this is _her_ and when her eyes find you, when she reaches for you, you’ve barely touched her fingers before the ground cracks beneath her.

Isabela’s eyes widen, in the frozen instant before she’s pulled down.

Then the earth has swallowed her, leaving nothing but a scar on the ground and the smell of cinnamon in the air, scorched and turned foul enough to burn your throat when you open your mouth and you scream.

Aveline staggers beside you, the ground shaking with your despair, until Sebastian steps forward and kicks you back, winding you and robbing the sound from your lips. He curls his lip down at you as you look up, clarity flashing across Aveline’s face for a moment before he chokes it away with a glance, and then his focus in on you, his hand raising and the shotgun returning to it.

“Are you ready to do something useful?” He asks quietly, dropping the weapon before you.

You curl your fingers against the ground, scrunching your eyes shut to block out the sight; but all that waits for you is the memory of Isabela reaching, afraid, before she was dragged straight down to Hell and locked behind the Gate you’re fighting to keep closed. Your eyes open, dull, but you shake your head regardless, resolve still there despite how it’s begun to crack.

“Not this,” you tell him, and he sighs with disappointment. “Not this.”

“Well, then. I suppose we keep going, don’t we?”

You shake your head, but Sebastian has his hand up, and it’s only a moment before Varric is jerked forward, into his grasp, raised high off the ground as Sebastian’s hand tightens into his shirt. You urgently grab for him and Sebastian kicks you away, lifting Varric out of your reach.

“Sebastian,” Varric wheezes, patting at his arm. “Sebastain, come on, we’re friends, aren’t we? There’s no need for this. You can just put me down and stop being so _crazy_ and we can all laugh this off-” He pauses, kicking sharply and making Sebastian growl. “Before one of us _shoots you._ ”

“ _Silence,_ ” Sebastian answers sharply, and like that your Prophet is silent, his lips still curled in a snarl. You want to grab him down, want to save him, but you know better now. You _know_ what that would take, but you know what Sebastian is capable of, too, and when he stretches his free hand out and takes Aveline’s sword, your chest goes cold.

You can’t let Varric die!

But-

You look to Fenris.

“Hawke,” he murmurs, and you don’t hear him, not really, but you see the curve of his lips moving and feel the syllable in your soul. _Trust me,_ he’d said, and it hurt you, that he’d act like you had no choice- but you don’t, do you? Sebastian is right, he’s backed you into a corner and the only way out is spilled blood, but you have the power to choose which throat it spills from.

Sebastian lifts the sword easily, pressing it across Varric’s neck, and something crumbles inside you as you realise there isn’t an escape, not this time.

“Let him go.”

Sebastian looks down as you speak, and you don’t need to meet his gaze to know that he smiles when he sees you standing unsteadily, the shotgun held tight in your hands. They’re shaking, but you’re made certain by necessity, no real choice left in sight. Varric would be the first of many, Isabela was already too much, and if you can save anyone- If you can make something good from losing Fenris, if you can make his passing more than meaningless-

Warmth rolls down your cheek, and you take a shaky breath.

“Finally.” Sebastian sounds so _cheerful,_ it tears at you with a sharpness no anger could contain. “You’re doing the right thing, Hawke.”

You ignore him, limping forward to face Fenris instead, aware of every ache and burn in your body, weakened without Anders to heal you, Merrill to help you, and the freedom that’s tied up and chained in Fenris’ skin. You can’t do this without that power, and you know the cost, the loss, the battles that might follow, and the first fight you’ll face, the fight to keep the freedom you’ve never been without.

Your father fought the Seals, once. You pray that you can do the same.

No.

If this is the cost you have to pay, you _will_ do the same.

“I don’t want to do this,” you murmur, but your voice is dead now, something gone from it. Your fight, likely. Your hope. Something just as sweet, now lost. Fenris nods, looking at your face for a long moment before his breath hitches and he closes his eyes.

“I know.”

There’s so much you wanted to say and do, so much you would have been together in another life. Here and now you look at him and you’re numb, nothing left to feel but empty, but _angry._

“There has to be sacrifice,” Anders reminds you, and you wonder why, before he pulls his knife from his belt and slices across his palm. “I can give it for Earth, and… for Heaven, for what good Justice is still worth.”

“It has to be blood spilled in coming death, for a true sacrifice,” Sebastian reminds him with far too much glee, and you see Anders’ jaw set.

Another, another, and everyone is lost to you.

_You’re losing everything._

“What of the Horsemen?” Anders asks, instead of answering. Fenris laughs, and pulls back his sleeve, looking at a rag around his wrist that’s red and bright amongst all the ash and leather and shadow.

“...Blood spilled in death,” he murmurs, and smiles at you, a smile that never reaches his eyes.

“When the Ward is weakened, you need to break it,” Anders says, and it takes a long moment to realise he’s talking to you. You blink and look at him, and the thought he’ll be gone with Fenris barely flutters in your mind, choked out by everything else, by the screaming that’s beating against the inside of your skull. “There won’t be a second chance, Hawke. You need to do this _now._ ”

“ _I know,_ ” you choke back, lifting the gun and aiming, not that it will matter. Hardly a graceful weapon, is it? Hardly a good way to go. But it doesn’t matter, one scratch in that cage when it’s weak and the power trapped inside will do the rest, will tear it to pieces, tear him to-

You can’t stop shaking.

“I love you,” Fenris whispers, but you hear it, you know it. “Whatever happens, Hawke, I’m- I’ll always be yours.”

Anders moves closer to him, foot almost breaking the circle in the dirt, scraping near its edge but never crossing it. Fenris raises his hand, and then Anders is grasping his wrist, a brilliant glow racing up his arms and spreading all across him, filling his eyes with white light that starts to burn everything else away.

“ _Hawke!_ ”

The moment is blinding.

The moment is _here._

Flemeth’s voice booms in your memory.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say, finger pulling tight and black metal slamming back against your trembling hands.

☾

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first! Please look at [this emotional fan-art of chapter 12](http://dacadaca.tumblr.com/post/130955581598/whatever-comes-i-want-you-to-know-fenris) by resident "why haven't I just started co-authoring this with her let's be honest" artist Daca.
> 
> Sorry for the pause! The last few chapters will be out a lot quicker, and then the follow-up will start posting almost straight after. The sequel will, despite starting aside, quickly _directly continue the story of TDOTL._ I _strongly_ advise you [subscribe to the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/304416) if you want to be aware of when it goes online, and continue the story that was started here.
> 
> That being said, the decisions that led to them being so tightly connected were very hard to make. I hope you will trust me with them, and that the rest of this story, through to the next saga, is something you'll stay with and enjoy.
> 
> I am really quite nervous at this point, and while I'm usually pretty placid, I'd really appreciate if any of you could leave me a comment or an ask telling me if you've enjoyed these last two chapters. They were a big thing for me, and I'd love even a little feedback.


	16. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything has to end someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Daca. Without you, this light likely would have never shone again.

_Chargers, chargers, ride with me!_  
_We’ll break the sky wide open!_  
_Across the land and ‘cross the sea!_  
_Away, away we ride!_  
_For this is the dawn and this is the dusk,_  
_This is day and the night!_  
_We’ll blind the sun and split the moon,  
_ _And set the stars alight!_

 

Time slows in the moment after you fire.

You don’t know if you’re imagining it, if your mind has snapped, or if someone really does make the instant drag past, wanting you to see, to _understand_.

_Understand this, Champion. Understand the price you pay._

Somewhere, Flemeth is laughing.

It’s Anders who moves, too fast, too ready, skin cracking as Justice burns up in defiance. There’s an instant, one _perfect_ moment where the spray of metal passes the useless line in the dirt, and in the fragile beat before it can strike the Angel’s fingers dig into the soil, close the circle, light blazing up behind the sweep of his hand. The Ward rises up as Anders’ eyes break blue and his teeth grit with the effort of dragging it into existence fast and strong, light wavering as blood splatters across his back-

Your gaze snaps to Fenris, as all the glow around him dims, his chest a scatter of vibrant red that wells up too fast and raw. His lips are parted, eyes wide with the shock of the hit, and all you want is to take it back, stop this, pull him close and laugh and forget anything but the starlight in his eyes and in his smile.

He flickers.

Falters.

Blinding light consumes him in a burst that holds his form for only a fraction of a second before it all explodes apart and crashes in waves against the ward Anders is holding, his silhouette still visible amongst the endless glow. You scream something, thoughtless and feral, as the hazy shadow starts to fragment in a way far worse than the light of Justice, starts to come apart as light tears through it- through _him_ , through _him_ and all he was and is and might’ve been, until all that’s left is light and the ward scatters with the man who was holding it, light blasting out and slamming into you as your cry grows ragged and all you can think is please, _please_ , let it have been _enough-_

The rings of light that pierce brighter through the hazy glow hitch in place and blur, the world going still and silent. You can’t even hear your heart in your ears, the scream you know is still hoarsely falling out of you, the silence absolute and smothering everything that isn’t the figure still dimly visible in the center of it all.

Fenris lifts a hand towards you, pure white fingers shaking, parts lips around a mouth that shows the darkness of the heavens within. Perhaps he’s screaming, perhaps he’s saying your name, perhaps nothing leaves him at all beyond a breath. Whatever it is, it’s lost by the time his fingers curl, his lips curving into a smile that will haunt your nightmares as much as it lights up your dreams.

Then the world comes crashing inwards, too far, too _much,_ and tears him down into a single point of light that bursts into fading embers which vanish as dust on the faintest wind.

Your pulse is in your ears again, heavy and fast, mind spinning from shock and sorrow and something _more_ that’s scratching up inside you and begging to be free. Everything is too bright, even though the light is faded. You can smell the ash and the burning earth that’s blackened by the fading ward; you can feel the storm above prickling on your skin, the taste of coming rain and lightning in the air.

“- _asn’t meant to happen!”_

Sebastian’s voice forced past the drumbeat, your gaze numb as you move it to him instead of the after-image of an outstretched hand still burned into your vision. Varric must have managed to get free in the blast, not fool enough to stay close and already running, but Sebastian has made no effort to follow. His hands are clenched into tight fists, skin pale and eyes fierce, but for the first time in as long as you can remember, Sebastian Vael looks afraid, looks broken, looks… _small._

He takes a step back, then another, slipping on the mud and fighting to keep his balance as he tears his gun from the air and sets the black sights on you, his finger trembling against the trigger.

“What did you _do?_ ” His grandstand is done, his understanding no longer complete, something broken to the anger that drips from his words. You understand, then, even as everything slips out of his reach. You _understand,_ and it makes your chest ache.

“You underestimated.”

“ _What?_ ”

You laugh, voice ringing with a power you can feel welling up in your fingers, tingling below your skin. “You knew what you were up against, you were so _sure._ You knew the fight you faced and how pitiful it was.”

Sebastian backs up again, but instead of the escape he sought his back meets Aveline instead, and he scrambles forward as she bares her teeth and stares down at him with eyes bright red with firelight and freedom. She raises her sword and forces him backward, forces him towards you as you gaze at your fingers and watch your skin fall apart to shining gold that reflect the lightning herald of coming thunder, and sings with a magic more ancient than the blood that flows molten through your veins.

“You never thought they’d defy you. That they’d have that _power_.” You smile bitterly. “But they didn’t have to be powerful as _you,_ just powerful _enough_. Powerful enough to hold a ward, powerful enough to hold together for just that _moment._ ”

“He shouldn’t-” Sebastian swings his gun around as Merrill steps forward, tears welling up in her blackened eyes. “He _couldn’t_ have held together that long, there wasn’t _enough of him!_ He was just-”

“Wet clay.” You nod, looking up to him. “But I… I poured him into a mold before I even knew. I wanted him to be safe, you… you _did_ that, you know? You made me love him more than anything, and I _did,_ I loved him more than I love myself, I’d give up anything to protect him, even if he didn’t understand what I was giving.”

Sebastian stares at you, and you see him realise, see his gaze drop to the jacket you’re wearing still, the leather plain black, the mark on the back absent and wrong.

“It wasn’t just a _jacket,_ you- _You gave him your armour_ ,” he says roughly, and you smile, spreading your hands wide and mocking.

“It suited him better than it ever suited me.”

Sebastian lunges for you, and you flicker aside too fast to be seen, catching his collar and spinning to throw him back into the dirt, an echo of every idle time he tossed you aside. His gun clatters out of his reach and Aveline stamps a boot down hard on it, the metal twisting and groaning under her weight until it tears apart with a shower of sparks when her boot lights like a smith’s hammer beating down in a fiery rage.

You walk forward and lift Sebastian with a hand around his throat, smiling up at him mirthlessly as your eyes stay cold and empty.

“If I’m remembering correctly,” you tell him pleasantly, “ _this_ is the part where I stop you.”

His eyes widen in fear, but before he has a chance to get another worthless word out of his lips you throw him and send him smashing into the church, watching him bounce through the rubble as you follow and let fire burst into life around your hands, licking up your arms and all about you. Sebastian drags himself up, pale skin bruised with the coal black that lies beneath, and staggers as you spread your hands and force all the fallen stone and brick aside, striding calmly through the center of the parted wreckage sea.

“The Seals were _broken,_ you should…” He moves back, trying to draw up the shadows and flinching as Merrill’s finer darkness crashes down on them and drags them back to oblivion. “The call of Heaven should’ve brought you _home!”_

“You didn’t learn from history, and now here we are again, Sebastian.” You sigh, jerking your hand up and throwing him into the air, before slamming it forward and pressing him back painfully into the wall. “The call of Heaven failed before, for love, and _you_ gave me that, gave me the very thing that could speak louder than the voice of God.”

“You took her from me,” Merrill adds, voice shaking and raw with the song the solar winds sing. “You _took her from me!_ ”

“They wouldn’t want _this._ ” Aveline touches a hand to her chest, her voice calm and cold. “They didn’t die for me to become- _that,_ not _again._ ”

Sebastian struggles, roars, but there’s a franticness to his power that isn’t lost on you. He catches his breath and you drop him, let him crumple like a frightened child upon the floor as he shouts. “You would go against the will of Heaven for the sake of humans and Demons and _men who were never real!_ ”

“No.” He still doesn’t understand, and you shake your head with what might be pity as you stop before him, gaze down at the man who seemed so powerful and flawless once, now mottled with spreading blotches of darkness and unable to stop his shoulders quaking in fear. “Oh, Sebastian, _Sebastian._ ”

“We don’t go against the will of Heaven,” Merrill murmurs, fingers splaying as her shadows wrap around him, dragging him back against the stone and keeping him still.

You lean in, and catch his gaze, and think that in that instant there is nothing in the world more broken that the spirit of Sebastian Vael.

“...All of this was only ever the will of _you._ ”

His eyes widen like he’s the one who was shot, lips parting with words that never come. You consider him, consider how much you want to kill him, to tear out his throat and heart and take everything from him like he took it from _you-_

And then Aveline’s hand settles on your shoulder, and somehow without words, you _know,_ and you smile.

“Hold him still,” you tell Merrill quietly, and she nods, the shadows spreading as fear flickers in his brilliant eyes. “Aveline, you know it better than I do.”

“Aye, but your hands are the ones that should lay it.” She squeezes your shoulder, firmly. “I’ll tell you if you go astray.”

“What are you doing?” Sebastian watches as you raise your hands towards him, the fire extinguishing to be replaced by a white that’s bright and familiar. “Hawke? _Hawke._ Stop this!”

You ignore him, the panicked hitch in his words, summoning a memory that you doubt you’ll ever forget and tracing the lines tender and slow in your thoughts before you burn them harsh and uncompromising into bitterer flesh, tearing his marble skin apart with carved marks made out of eternity and all the life that was wasted to reforge them. Sebastian is crying out with each new blazing trail, first in pain, then _realisation,_ then growing horror and outright terror.

“ _Hawke! Please!_ Not that, _please,_ anything, banish me, _kill me-_ ”

But you don’t. You draw the lines you’d come to adore, twisted now into something you can never forgive, and Sebastian sobs out a last desperate plea between the chains that tighten harsh around him.

“Not the Ward, _please,_ I’ll do anything, don’t do this, don’t shield me-”

You laugh, and drag the last lines up his throat, each spark that settles on his forehead a point into which you pour all the pain you feel, all the agony he’s forced you to _know._

“It isn’t a shield,” you whisper, bringing your face close to his as his form shudders and contracts, as his skin drains back to a human tone, as his clothes falter their way to rags and charred cloth. Your smile is as terrible as the punishment you seal tight shut, as the righteous Justice that you need no Angel to convince you to inflict.

“It isn’t a shield.”

Sebastian’s gaze is hollow.

“It’s a _cage._ ”

“What shall we do with him?” Merrill asks as her darkness fades, leaving his human body hunched over amongst the dust and the rubble, gaze down on the ground and the torn verses, the fallen pews. Inside him, power beats at a cage it will never break, memories of what he was heavy over a body too fragile to grasp even a fraction of what he always took for granted.

“ _Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets._ ” You turn away from him, from the ghost of the man you knew. “We’ve already done enough.”

You leave the church, this place, forgotten by the world, forsaken by all things, but for the pitiful crying of one lonely, common man.

☾

Merrill is the first to leave, looking for a Demon who once smiled and made chains of flowers to put in her hair, sure he will find a way to drag Isabela back from the darkness, back into the light. She holds your hands tightly, kisses your knuckles each in turn, and promises you that if you need her, she will come the moment you call.

Varric plays her one last song before she goes, and she’s smiling when you last see her, shadows chasing her like a pack of wolves as she rides out of sight.

Aveline doesn’t stay much longer, and when she tells you she needs to make her peace with the men she never said goodbye to, you don’t say much but that you understand, letting her hug you tightly before she calls up her horse as the beast you used to know and gallops out of sight with sparks flying behind her.

“Are you going somewhere?” You ask Varric, and his smile is sad and small, and enough to be an answer you don’t want, but you know you cannot deny.

Yet he stays with you as you ride, and you’re thankful for that, the soft strumming of his guitar a bigger comfort than you think you could admit out loud.

You find her waiting for you on a hill with a view of the sunrise, and settle Ferelden at the base of it, letting your girl graze free as Varric settles beside her and plays a tune that’s hopeful, brighter, melody chasing you up the hill as you stride between the grass and the fresh blooming flowers, all shades of red and blue and yellow in the coming sun.

“Hawke,” Flemeth greets you, without looking towards you, her eyes the colour of the dawn that she observes with a patient smile. “Right on time, though there was never any doubt you would be.”

You don’t reply aloud, settling in place beside her and watching the light creeping between the hills to pool in deep valleys, over towns and roads and little specks that might be people, unaware of who surveys them, unaware of so _much_ of the world that lies just out of their sight. You’ve passed by so many without them ever knowing, but oh, those who _stay,_ those who _see…_

“They are the ones who cause greater ripples through your life than you could ever cause in theirs.”

You glance at her, and she smiles back, dark lips curved in a smile that’s knowing, but soft. “Champion, you have done much, and I know you wish your rest; but oh, the day is young, and there is so much left to do.”

“I don’t want to do it.” It’s a pointless thought but you air it anyway, and she chuckles, inclining her head.

“None of us ever do, Hawke. There will come a time your part in this ends, and you will have your peace.”

“It’s not now, though, is it?”

“No. First, there must be four.” She spreads a hand, and something blue flickers above it, faint and familiar. “The fourth will be an Angel, risen out of ashes.”

“Justice was killed,” you murmur when the light shatters, and she nods, watching the shards spin and then collect.

“...An Angel can die only once,” she agrees, quiet. “But a human?”

The blue grows brighter, paler, bursts to feathers, and she catches it in her fist.

“You will find him, when the time is right. You will find him, and you will know.”

You watch the light fade from between her fingers, gaze distant with thought, with words that don’t form how you’d like them to, hopes that die before they can reach your tongue. The light is mellowing, fire fading to a gentle haze, and it settles over the lines on Flemeth’s face, making her looking older and worn, a reflection of something you finally think you’re beginning to understand.

“He is not the one you came seeking,” she murmurs finally, gaze moving from the sun to something else, something you doubt is even really there to be seen.

“No.”

“After all this time, you are still looking?” Her brow knits, lips pursing. “You knew what killing him would cause, knew what the end was meant to bring, yet still you look for a thing that is not meant to _be._ Why?” Flemeth looks at you, examines your face, searching for something she seems unable to find. “Why do you look for the impossible man down improbable roads, Champion?”

“Please.” You smile, forced and thin but something honest behind it. “I do the impossible at least once before breakfast; I’d tear a new hole in the universe myself if it brought me to the man I love.”

The Witch is silent, regarding you thoughtfully, before all at once she is smiling, and the age that lined her face seems to all but melt away.

“Wet clay, wet clay,” she hums as gossamer threads of sunlight fall across her, weave together into a finer armour and spread into wings of bone and stretched skin. “We are all wet clay until we are fired in the heat of the choices that define us. All it takes is the right mould to catch us and hold us, and perhaps something is left where nothing was meant to remain.”

Your heart stops.

“He’s- He’s _still-?_ ”

“I didn’t say that,” she chides you, as she starts to fall to flower petals that catch on the breeze. “And yet…”

Her eyes glow, blaze brighter, a clawed gauntlet rising towards you as all around it fades.

“When God is absent and an Angel calls your name, look for what you seek when hope is lost, call his name when all is darkness, and _there-_ ”

“There? _There!_ ” You repeat it, urgent, chasing the petals and catching onto her words as her voice becomes nothing but an echo that comes from all places at once, bright and ringing and the chorus of the dawn.

“ _There, Champion, my Champion,_ ” Fate croons, her song a swell to draw you crashing forward to the next impossible thing, the next adventure to chase, the next unwanted place in a destiny you would accept if only for him, _him,_ your impossible man who shone like the starlight and might glow for you _still-_

“ _You will find what you seek,_ ” speaks Flemeth, “ _when there lies the Abyss._ ”

\- ☾ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: never say "it'll be up quickly." This is a lie. You will fail.
> 
> I really, really hope you've enjoyed The Dying of the Light. It's not quite over, but this is where I think it's right to thank you all for reading and sticking with me, and I really hope that you've had fun with the ups and downs of this story and everything between them. I'll say more next time, but I'm emotional to have reached this moment, this point, and proud of everything that led here, and how this itself has come to be.
> 
> There is an epilogue coming, and then we're off. As you might be able to tell, this story will lead smoothly into part two, and that at least is already planned and ready to go in a way this last little bit was not.


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seeker, Seeker, what's a good story without a few lies?

_Said the Prophet to the Seeker,_   
_Well now our tale is through,_   
_My words are spun,_   
_My purpose done,_   
_There’s no more left for you._   
_Said the Seeker to the Prophet,_   
_You think you’re through? No; Hark!_   
_There’s more at stake,_   
_Than Horsemen’s fate,_   
_We’re barely at the start._   
  
  
  


“You expect me to _believe_ that?”

Cassandra’s glass hit the bar a little too hard and loud, and Varric rolled his eyes at the affronted look on her face, nursing his whiskey with a little more care.

“I didn’t even give you the version with the dragon, Seeker, _please._ I _behaved._ ”

“One of the Horsemen was left _human_ ,” she began, and oh Lord she was _counting it off on her fingers._ Varric stifled a groan. “An Angel- _Justice-_ was _murdered_ , some _thing_ made out of the _fabric of reality_ was given _life,_ and after seeing Fate- _Fate herself, in the flesh-_ you parted ways with Conquest and have not seen any of the Horsemen _since, despite_ being one of their closest friends and allies.”

“That _is_ the summary, yes.” He poked a finger into his glass to swirl the ice about, smiling lazily up at her. “You should write the backs of my books for me.”

The Seeker huffed a breath that Varric wagered would’ve held cinders were she able to breathe the fire in her eyes, her fingers tightening around the wood of the bar so hard her thin knuckles went white with the bone stretching her skin. “I have never heard such a _blatant_ collection of _exaggerations_ and _lies_ in my _life._ ”

“Well you _have_ only known me for a day.”

Cassandra snorted in disgust.

“Listen.” Varric threw back his head and emptied his glass in one quick motion, raising the empty glass to her before sliding it off towards the barkeep with a smile that was far too easy to summon despite the worry that still pulled tight in his chest, a cool edge that took away some of the warm buzz he’d come seeking in a bottle. “I’ve told you the story, and told you it’s the truth. Deciding if you want to believe it, and what you do with it whatever you decide? That’s all up to you.”

“It is not up to me alone. Others will need to hear this… _fairytale_ of yours, and will have _questions_.” Her voice was even, but he could see the strain of keeping it that way turning her lips pale and her cheeks dark. “Your part in this is not done, Varric Tethras.”

“See, that’s the funny thing. Looks to me like it _is._ ”

“ _Varric._ ”

He was already off the stool, slapping a roughly smoothed ten on the bar before he started towards the door, steps firm and determined. Cassandra hurried to follow, throwing coins haphazardly beside her half-finished drink before she strode behind him, catching up and grasping his shoulder firmly. “Varric, this is not as simple as you assume. I would not have troubled a Prophet for something as… out of our hands as the Horsemen.”

“Ah, of course, let’s tell the _Prophet_ he has no idea what he’s talking about, and once again prove no one seems to understands what the word even _means.”_

“If you _knew_ you would not be so quick to brush me aside.”

“Or _maybe_ I’ve just had a _lifetime’s worth_ of being involved in other people’s _problems._ ”

Her fingers dug into his shoulder, nails leaving grooves in the leather he still wore out of something foolish, sentimental, a memory of a better time when there were voices around a campfire and a future that seemed bright, no matter what the visions held. Blood and blaze and a blinding instant were a problem for the future, then, but now they were past and the ash was still falling, the burning brush catching and the flames he had once laughed off as nightmares catching in mighty oaks he had thought too ancient and strong to ever truly burn. It would rage wildly, before it was finished. It would spread wide, raze too much of what had been promised _more_ , and he knew already what those grasping fires would consume before they were satisfied and quenched to blackened ruin and lingering scars.

“If you have a part in this,” Cassandra murmured, pleading in a way that didn’t suit a voice made for pride and faith. “If you have a part in it, you already _know._ ”

For a moment, he remained still and tense, before it fell, his shoulders slumping and a curse slipping out too soft for the world to share.

“Two walk together, see a neon sign on a darkened road. A light to guide them, just like the boy said.” He raised a hand towards the door, not raising his head, not needing to see a sight again that he’d dreamed of more times than he’d like, of late. “The shorter looks up, smiles, says _I told you we could trust him._ The taller looks down, frowns, replies _whatever he is, I still don’t like it.’_

‘They walk up to the door, and the taller stops, bows, _starlings first._ He gets an elbow to his gut for his trouble, but the shorter takes the invitation all the same.”

The bell above the door chimed as it opened, from somewhere far away, her hand clenching and then releasing sharply as she gave a sharp gasp. Seekers might not See like Varric could, he knew, but they were taught to recognise those who weren’t from their world. A shadow with horns, eyes that glowed in the instant before they blinked and curved with a delighted smile.

“So Independence and the Lord of Hell walk together, and they see the man they’re seeking and the Seeker who found him. He’s talking, but they can’t hear, not yet, so the taller elbows the shorter and he says-”

“An Angel and a Demon walk into a bar.” Varric could see the man in his mind’s eye before he looked up, teeth sharp, skin dark, a grin spreading lazily across his disguised face as he kicked the door shut behind him. “The Demon says, hey, Feathers, looks like we’ve got ourselves a P _rophet_ on our hands.”

“And the Angel says, _my, my,_ ” the smaller replied lightly, voice bright and eyes sharper than his softer smile, half-hidden by the carefully preened moustache that was grown over old scars in borrowed skin. “For the first time since I met you, I think you’re actually _on to something._ ”

Varric looked up, then, to the vision as he knew it would be, real and whole and undeniable. The first step down a road that would lead to places green and forgotten, denied too long but finally here to catch up with him. The literal demon was at his door, wide horns and one eye that was darker than the void and easier to fall into, and beside him a creature that shone bright for a moment with the ghost of endless wings and eyes that spread out and curved about each other like the petals of a wilting rose. It was gone in an instant, but the memory remained, a vivid spectre in his third eye that had his skin prickling and each breath against a weight crushing in against his chest.

“Gentlemen,” he said despite it, and even through the ice it was simple to summon a smile, easy to slip back into a practised tone. The mask raised naturally into place, a storyteller ready to continue the greatest myth he’d ever told the world, and oh, what a story it would be before the fire branded it black and everlasting into the pages of history.

Varric bowed, and the lie was easy, but still, the truth remained; he’d been expecting the pair of them longer than they’d known his name, just like he’d expected Cassandra, and Fenris, and the Riders all before them. Like he’d expected the man at the crossroads who offered him a deal he couldn’t refuse; the red curse that had driven his brother mad and nearly taken him with it; the betrayal of a fool who thought to please God, and all that would come tumbling down from a shotgun blast, a halo of blood about an impossible head.

The Seeker’s mistake was thinking he didn’t know his part in the story of others, but all of this, this mess and magic and what was true and what he had let slip twisted from his tongue-

This was _his_ story, and by an absent God and the will of Fate, he still had so much to do before its end.

✥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Varric and Hawke return in[At Close of Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6232660/chapters/14280748)!**
> 
> \--
> 
> I'm meant to thank you for reading and have something nice and flowing to tell you that this is through but I'm just really emotionally affected by having finished this, and all of you having stuck with me to the end. The Dying of the Light has been an adventure and one I'm very proud to have gone on, and I'm insanely proud of what I've made here and the response it's received. Thank you all so, so much for every comment, and ask, and conversation. I hope you've enjoyed this bizarre adventure, and that maybe, if you're willing, you'll stick with me as I move onto the second part of it.
> 
> For now, here we are and here we end, an end and a beginning and everything in between, and it's been a joy. I'll see you again, perhaps, on another fic, in another comment section and kudos list.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone. You've been a wonderful audience.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on [Tumblr](http://khemi.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KhemiEvans), and [prompts are always welcome](http://khemi.tumblr.com/ask).


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